Untwisting the Truth Takes Many Hands
by Selene Illusinia
Summary: [Dark Science] After discovering the truth about who he is, Grant sets out to discover more about who he is and what was done to him. With Skye and the others backing him though, will he find the answers he wants or will they discover a threat rivaling Hydra?
1. Chapter 1

The echo of traffic from below was too noisy, too much. But he needed the air right then- needed to be outside. The only time he could remember finding peace was in the woods, away from everything and everyone except the natural world. No one had bothered him and no one had shaken his world to it's core like this. Out there, he'd know who and what he was. Nothing had mattered except where he'd find food that day and keeping Buddy alive and safe. It was a blessing compared to this.

It was a blessing to rely only on himself and no one else. Out there, there was no one to disappoint. No one to shame. Not like here.

"Grant." The calm, steely voice nearly made him shiver. God, to think she'd let this man down without even knowing it. That he'd managed to screw up so badly. "I really wish you'd step back a little. You're making everyone nervous standing so close to the edge of the Tower."

Blinking, Grant looked down, taking in the three inches separating him from the long drop to the street below. Huh, when had he stepped so close to the edge?

"Your girl is about to run out here and pull you back," added that same voice, though he could hear the tension in the other man's words. "She's really worried about you."

"Skye isn't my girl," corrected Grant, even as he took a few steps back and turned to face his visitor. "I'm a monster. Monsters don't get girls."

The look of utter confusion that crossed Steve Rogers' face would have been funny if he weren't a literal national treasure. As it was, Grant felt worse than he had before for confusing the man. "Why do you think you're a monster?"

"You heard what Simmons said," muttered Grant, eyes focusing on the Stark Tower logo printed on the helipad. "I'm a science experiment gone wrong. They were trying to make another of you and got me instead."

"You aren't a monster," stated Steve, his footsteps growing nearer and his voice firmer. "Schmidt? He was a monster. You aren't."

"I betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D," reminded Grant with a derisive snort. "I destroy everything, disappoint every family I'm a part of. I couldn't even save John. Instead, I got distracted and destroyed him instead."

There was a faint sigh from the man in front of him before Grant felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. "The serum makes the good, great and the bad, worse. That was what Dr. Erskine told me the night before I was exposed to the serum. I was chosen because I was a good man. But you weren't good or bad when you were exposed, you were too young to be either. Based on what Skye told me about your family, I'd say it's a miracle you can care at all."

Grant didn't know what to say to that. He knew on some level he cared, but it was hard to figure out if he really cared or was only taking orders. The only exceptions to that were Skye, Fitz, and Simmons. He knew he cared about them. Skye was his light in the darkness and Fitz and Simmons reminded him of Thomas and Emma. They were young and couldn't protect themselves. It was why he'd jettisoned the pod: so they could survive. At least that had worked. At least they'd gotten away from Garrett unscathed. But none of them would have been in danger if he hadn't exposed them to Garrett either. God, he missed taking orders- it was so much easier.

"Grant," prompted Steve, drawing Grant's attention back to the man, "why don't we go inside."

"Why?" asked Grant, shaking his head slightly as his eyes slide back to the city. "So they can lock me up again? I'm a bigger threat now than I was before. All going inside means is that everyone will be scared of me."

"The knowledge doesn't make you a bigger threat," corrected Steve, laying a hand on Grant's shoulder. "It just means you know who you are now and why you're stronger or faster than other people. That. doesn't make you a monster." Sighing, Steve squeezed his shoulder slightly. "Look, I can't say I'm happy about what you did before, but, after talking with Skye, I'm not sure it's as simple as 'you betrayed everyone'. Were you actually Hydra, Grant? Did you believe in their goals?"

"No," stated Grant without a second thought, shaking his head firmly. "Hydra is a bunch of lunatics. Crazies who want to take over the world. I never believed a word of what they spewed. But they swore they could save John and, after he went through the trouble of saving my life, I needed to try to save his. I owed him."

"So it was this John that you were following and not Hydra," stated Steve with a nod. "And you were following him because you felt like you owed him."

"He told me I owed him and he was right," corrected Grant with a shake of his head. "He taught me to survive, fight, shoot, everything. I wouldn't have even been S.H.I.E.L.D if he hadn't saved me. I would probably have ended up in jail for the rest of my life or something, knowing my family. They could get to me anywhere. They had all the power."

"They don't have any power over you anymore Grant," assured Steve, the hand shifting so the other man's arm was around his shoulders. "The others are worried about you. Let's go back in with them and you can figure out what you want to do next."

"What?" asked Grant, even as he let Steve lead him back towards the doors into Stark Tower. He'd have to face the music eventually unless he wanted to take a running leap off the Tower and that didn't really sound like a nice way to die. Even super-soldier's probably had some kind of limit. "What do you mean?"

"What you want to do next," repeated Steve with a shake of his head. "We aren't locking you back up, Grant. There's no point. If you weren't really Hydra, which both Skye and I believe, and you didn't betray S.H.I.E.L.D of your own free will, which I believe based on what you just said, then there's no reason to lock you up again. What you have to decide is what you want to do now."

"What I want?" whispered Grant, his stomach dropping out. He'd have to decide what he wanted to do next? Couldn't someone just tell him what to do? He'd never even imagined a life away from John or outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. What the hell was he going to do?

* * *

 _-31 years ago, Coron Island, Philippines-_

There was a man in a heavy jacket waiting at the airstrip as Sims descended the plane, stepping onto the wet soil of the remote island. As he approached the man who was hovering in the shadows of a sheet metal shed beside the strip, he watched the bright cherry of a cigarette break through the rapidly growing dusk shadows. He made a bit of a face in response, shaking his head at the man.

"Those things will kill you, Arthur," admonished Thaddeus as he approached Arthur Ward, shaking his head a bit at the younger man's clear recklessness. Had Cyrus not taught him better? "You shouldn't smoke. Particularly with your experiments."

Arthur just shook his head and dropped the butt, stomping on it to ensure it was extinguished before moving into step with Thaddeus. "If you had been on time, I wouldn't have lit one. It was an act of boredom."

"A very reckless one," stated Thaddeus with a sigh. "Tell me, how are things progressing?"

"Well," assured Arthur as he pulled a notepad from his pocket. "We have managed to secure a small island isolated enough that our presence will hardly be noticed. The next step is to find a way to get the materials we required shipped to the island under cover of night and hire a building crew."

"Speak with Dr. Earnic," dismissed Thaddeus with a shake of his head. "She has designed robots capable of disassembling a building at a rapid pace. I have no doubts she will be more than capable of assembling some capable of constructing our establishment."

"Dr. Earnic," repeated Arthur, scribbling something in the notebook. "I don't suppose you'd have some contact information for her."

"She is currently being held in a secure facility inside the USSR, constructing automatons for Leviathan," remarked Thaddeus in a bored tone. "If you bribe the right people, they will smuggle her from the facility."

"And the right people would be...?" questioned Arthur, raising an eyebrow. "I'm a geneticist, not a black market arms dealer."

"A man in the government named Alexkander Orlov who heads the prisons has the power to release her," explained Thaddeus, pulling a piece of paper from his coat and passing it to Arthur. "We need to get this underway. If we are to establish this community, we need to get a move on."

"What about your experiment?" asked Arthur as he tucked the note into the book. "Did you find a safe place to hide him?"

"Yes, I placed him with your brother," stated Thaddeus as he stopped by the truck, pulling the door open. "It will be a suitable place for him until we have the facility up and running. Once we have established the community, I will send you to retrieve him."

"I'm not sure my brother is the best person to care for a science experiment," remarked Arthur with a bit of a scowl. "He really isn't a good person."

"He isn't bright," agreed Thaddeus as he slipped into the truck. "But he will suffice. I have convinced him to hold on to the child. We will retrieve him when we have the labs established and have a proper place to house him. Your brother cannot possibly do further damage to him than Hydra would have."

"What did you end up naming him?" asked Arthur as he climbed in the other side of the truck and turned the engine over. "Not Philip, I hope."

"Grant, actually," replied Thaddeus, tapping his fingers slightly against the closed door. "Grant Douglass."

"You used Captain America's middle name?" questioned Arthur in clear surprise. "Isn't that a bit of a give away?"

"Hardly," dismissed Thaddeus casually. "Many people are named Grant. It will hardly be connected."

"But he's with the Wards," pointed out Arthur as he gave the truck some gas and turned them onto the barely present dirt road. "We are known associates of yours."

"You and your father are," corrected Sims, glancing over at Arthur. "It's also believed your father is dead and you likely are as well. By extension, your brother had done everything in his power to bury his connection to you or your father. I am far from concerned. Now, let us return to the discussion of constructing our compound."

"Right," sighed Arthur, shaking his head a little. "Well, so far..."


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I feel the need to state something right now, mostly because I've gotten a few too many remarks on this particular element of this story.**

 **Ward is facing life changing facts.**

 **Yes, these facts don't have to change his life, but much like what happened with Loki, these facts change his identity by changing his ancestry. That's a big thing to take in. It isn't like finding out people you never met were actually French and not German, but rather finding out your family isn't your family, period. That your life as you knew it was a lie in regards to who you were to the people around you.**

 **On top of that, his issues with Garrett are unresolved. This fic takes place maybe five months after the end of Season 1. He hasn't had time to magically accept everything Garrett did to him. These two life-changing elements are going to have a negative impact on his mental state. Please, please keep that in mind. I know he's not taking this well, but no one in his shoes would be.**

 **Grant is still in shock in this chapter, so expect some level of submission here. That doesn't mean he isn't capable of making his own decisions or being independent- it means he's trying to absorb a lot of information that he wasn't aware of before and is struggling to do that. Again, keep this in mind please. I don't really want to get fifty reviews saying "Grant is a strong, independent man". I know he is, but he's also struggling with his own identity right now. And anyone who can remember what it's like to try to figure out who you are knows this isn't an easy struggle to face.**

* * *

 _-Present Day, Stark Tower-_

The room was dead quiet when Grant stepped inside with Steve, though every head in the room turned towards him in one silent motion. It made him want to run back outside; he hated when people put so much attention on him- it had never been good in the past. Still, he took a deep breath and forced himself to keep walking; not that Steve's arm wasn't enough to continue to propel him forward.

Skye stood from a couch as he approached, her worried eyes meeting his. Behind her, Coulson remained seated with an equally worried look, the exact opposite of what Grant would have expected. Even Hill looked unhappy, though he suspected that had more to do with the fact he was related to Steve than because she was actually concerned for him. Where he was concerned, anger was still probably the only thing she could feel.

Romanoff was sitting beside Hill, her eyes calm as she watched them enter. There was a ruffled looking brown-haired man beside her and Stark was sprawled out beside him, though he didn't look nearly as casual as he usually did. Then again, who could really look casual with a convicted traitor in the room?

A blond woman stood beside Simmons, both of whom were standing beside where Fitz sat with a burly looking man with a shaved head. Trip and May were standing behind them, apparently having paused whatever conversation they were having as soon as Grant entered. Then again, everyone looked like they'd fallen silent. Great, because that wasn't ominous at all.

"How you feeling?"

Grant's head snapped around towards a blond man as he exited the kitchen, two glasses in hand. It took him a moment to realize the casually dressed man was Clint Barton, the best shot in SHIELD. Were all the members of the Avengers seriously there? Was Thor going to walk through the door in a minute?

"Grant?" Skye's voice snapped him back to where she was standing, brow furrowed in a concerned way he thought he'd never see again. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," stated Grant quietly, his eyes falling to the ground as he fought to get his head in the game. If he was going to face down his old team and the Avengers, he needed to at least have his head on straight. Who knew what they were going to throw at him? Just because Steve said they weren't going to lock him up didn't mean they wouldn't. Everyone in his life had apparently been lying to him for years; what reason did he have to believe they weren't still?

A hand appeared in front of him a minute later, small and welcoming. He knew that hand (was it sad he knew what her hands looked like?) and took it with only minimal reluctance. If Skye was offering him her hand, he wanted to believe she was there to help him at least a little. It was probably a lie, but he'd be willing to live with that lie. At least he could pretend it was real for a minute.

Taking her hand, Grant let Skye lead him over to a chair, set a little further away from the couch. He wasn't really sure why she was leading him there, but he didn't fight her either. If he tried to, someone would probably tackle him. So he settled into the chair, leaning forward slightly to prop his upper body against his elbows. "So, what now?"

"That's up to you," stated Skye quietly, perching on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. She looked out of her element sitting there, almost nervous. "I took another look at Sims' file after you left and Darcy poked around a little herself. We were able to figure out your mom was probably the granddaughter of Steve's mother's sister. Apparently, his mother managed to get over here just before World War I, but no one else in her family managed to make it out. By Darcy's calculation, that would make him your great uncle."

"My great uncle," repeated Grant, his brow furrowing. That should be more shocking, it should have more of an impact, but all his brain could think was: "That doesn't sound right. I think to be my great uncle, he'd have to be the brother to one of my grandparents. My mother would have been his second cousin. That would make me something like his third cousin."

"First cousin twice removed, actually," corrected Simmons, the sound of her shuffling around causing Grant to lift his head again. He spotted the scientist half a second before she plopped down next to Skye on the coffee table, Fitz being dragged behind her. "You and Steven would share grandparents as a common ancestor, but because you are two generations removed, you would be first cousins twice removed."

"That makes my head hurt," muttered Skye, shaking her head a little. "I like great uncle better. It's easy."

"But completely incorrect," argued Simmons, tilting her head slightly at Skye. "Accuracy in these matters is important. Misrepresentation of the facts leads to misunderstandings."

"Do you know where I came from?" broke in Grant rubbing his temple slightly as he tried to process all of this. Nothing felt like it would stick though; hell, if he didn't know better (aka, have the bruises to prove it), he might have actually believed this was all just a bad dream. Sadly, he did have the bruises and he damn well knew none of this was a dream.

"Assuming you're the one Hydra smuggled into the country, it looks like you were born in Utena in the USSR," stated Skye quietly, her fingers twisting slightly in front of her. His eyes focused on her fingers, letting the motion distract him a little. The USSR; he'd been born in the USSR. Not Russia or Latvia or one of those other former Soviet countries, but the actual USSR. The enemy of the US through the entire cold war.

Grant couldn't explain why he burst into laughter suddenly at the thought of being from the USSR, but something about it struck him as incredibly funny. Or maybe he was hysterical- it was a little hard to tell at the moment. He couldn't actually remember being hysterical at any point in time in his life, but the symptoms felt right. Or at least sounded right.

"Grant?" Skye's worried voice caught his attention, his eyes rising from her hands to meet her worried gaze even as he continued to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"I don't know," gasped Grant, closing his eyes in an attempt to reign in his near-hysterical laughter. It took a moment, but he managed to calm down enough to regain his breath. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he tried to find the words to answer Skye. "Just- I'm from the USSR, literally the greatest enemy of the US during the Cold War, and I got mixed up in Hydra. I'm related to Captain America, the living embodiment of American patriotism, and somehow I managed to be the complete opposite of everything he stands for."

"You can't control where you're born," corrected Steve as he pulled a chair over from what looked like a bar and set it down beside Grant's. "And being born in the USSR doesn't make you an enemy of America. My mother was born in Germany and she wasn't an enemy of America."

"Besides, you weren't raised in the Soviet Union," pointed out Romanoff, a faint accent inflicting her words. It was apparent the slip was intentional instantly- a faint reminder to him that she _had_ been raised in the USSR during the Cold War and that she _had_ been an enemy of the US at one point. Garrett had told him that much- about how Romanoff had originally been a Soviet spy before Barton had chosen to save her rather than kill her; how the archer had brought her into SHIELD with Coulson's support.

"'Tasha's right," pipped in Barton, drawing Grant's eyes back to the couch where Coulson sat in silence. The archer was perched on the arm of the couch next to Coulson, one hand on the other agent's shoulder and the other laying loosely in his lap. "You can't help where you were born or the kind of family you were born into. The only thing you can control is who you are when everything is said and done. Yeah, sometimes people manipulate you or use you and you don't always realize what's happening until someone pulls you out, but that doesn't have to define who you are. It's what you choose to do _after_ that that determines who you are."

Grant wanted to believe Barton's words, he really did, but he honestly wasn't sure what Barton was trying to say either. His parents had been manipulative assholes and Maynard was the same, but he hadn't exactly made great choices from that point forward; he'd ended up with Hydra after all. "I traded my family for John, I'm pretty sure that doesn't exactly make me a good guy. He pulled me out of their home and I still made a bad call."

"How did you meet Garrett, anyway?" broke in Coulson, his eyes unreadable as they leveled on Grant. "I don't think we ever figured that one out."

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Grant considered how to answer that. He wasn't really sure he wanted to the mention the whole 'being in Juvie' thing, though he wasn't sure how Skye could have missed that part. He'd tried to burn a house down with his older brother inside- that wasn't exactly a minor offense. Attempted murder is a pretty serious, no matter how old you are. There wasn't really a way to explain how he met Garrett without bringing up the fact he'd been locked in Juvie though, and he wasn't really feeling inclined to lie to the people who'd gone through the trouble of breaking him out of jail. Again. Steve was really going to question his morality after this one.

Sighing, he opted for the most straight forward option and silently hoped they wouldn't throw him in a cell immediately after all. "I met Garrett when he showed up at the Plymouth Juvenile Detention Center and asked to speak with me. He said some buddy of his had turned him onto me. I didn't ask too many questions and when he all but dared me to agree to come with him, I said yes. Next thing I knew, he'd broken me out and we were in a pick-up heading west."

"Wait, Garrett broke you out of Juvenile Detention?" repeated Simmons, her voice a touch higher and almost scandalized. He dropped his hand and glanced over at the scientist, noting that her facial expression matched her tone. "What on Earth were you doing in there?"

"Awaiting trial," stated Grant, averting his eyes back to the coffee table in front of him and, by extension, Skye's hands. "I don't know how Garrett managed to cover up the fact I'd been in Juvie. My brother was pushing for me to be tried as an adult and I doubt my parents were trying to talk him out of it."

"It wouldn't be available in your record as an adult unless you were convicted as an adult," stated Skye softly, her fingers reaching out to curl around his. Immediately, his hands stilled under her touch. "I'm going to guess that had to do with trying to kill your older brother."

"Yeah," confirmed Grant quietly, his fingers lacing with hers in search of something familiar. Something he could hold on to as everything kept falling apart. "Garret found me there and broke me out. That's how I met him."

"So wait, you met Garrett and then let him break you out of jail what, a day later?" pressed Simmons, the scandal switching momentarily to something that almost might have been concern. "He could have been anyone, including a pedophile!"

"I'm relatively sure a pedophile would have an easier way of obtaining a target than breaking them out of Juvie," remarked Skye with a slight roll of her eyes. "It's not exactly easy. Though, I gotta agree, that's not really a lot of time to figure out if you can trust someone or not."

"It wasn't a day," corrected Grant, that one detail of Simmons' remark sticking in his head for some reason. "It was more like twenty minutes. And I didn't trust him- he even told me never to trust anyone, including him." He scoffed a little then, Garrett's words echoing in what was now clearly a perfect warning of things to come. "I should have listened better."

"So why did you do it?" spoke up Fitz, his voice shaking as he spoke. There was something notably not right about his tone either, but Grant couldn't figure out what was off. He'd have to ask Skye later. "Why d-did you go with him?"

Okay, the stutter was definitely new. Grant's brow furrowed as he looked over at Fitz, his confusing growing to concern. Had something happened to the engineer? "I was desperate. My parents didn't believe me and Maynard was the one who'd caused all of this. At that point, I was at their mercy. They could have easily bribed a judge to throw me in jail for life and bury my very existence to the point where no one would ever find me. Garrett offered me a chance to escape them and everything they represented. It's not exactly hard to convince a fourteen-year-old whose life is basically over to trust the first person who offers them an out."

"That is a very disturbing statement," remarked Simmons, her lips thinning in a way that said she wanted to argue but wasn't sure how to.

"Grant's right," broke in Skye, her eyes meeting his in that knowing way that said she'd seen it firsthand. "When you don't have anyone to lean on, you jump the first time someone offers you any kind of help without asking too many questions."

"But where were you from then until you joined the Academy?" asked Coulson, the man's lips compressed in suspicion. "I don't remember Garrett ever mentioning he had family or mentioning anyone your age in any capacity."

"He dropped me off in the woods," explained Grant with a shrug, eyes dropping again. He might have spent most of his teenage years in the woods, but he knew it wasn't normal to get dropped off there and left to fend for yourself as a young teenager. Yeah, dads took their sons on camping trips and his time in the woods had basically been a _really_ extended camping trip, but there was no way to explain it that didn't make it sound really bad. Okay, living in the woods had been rough, but it hadn't been horrible most of the time. Garrett had been right about it kicking his ass into shape, that was for sure. He just hoped the others wouldn't judge him for that; he'd seen enough TV to know that people who lived that way tended to be seen as backwards hicks and trigger happy. "I basically lived there until I went to the Academy."

"Lived there like...in a cabin?" asked Skye, trepidation leaking into her voice.

Grant thought about just saying yes for a moment and leaving it at that, but somehow that felt like lying by omission and he'd already decided against lying to them again at this point. "After I built one, yeah. Before that it was a tent I stole from a nearby cabin."

"And Garrett just left you there," repeated Coulson, anger edging his words. "Just left you alone with no supplies or training?"

"He said he'd be back in three weeks," tried Grant, hoping that would somehow make the situation better to the others even though he knew it probably wouldn't work. Even he had mixed feelings about what Garrett had done. He wouldn't argue the effectiveness of the man's techniques, but those first weeks had been rough and he remembered very clearly how hungry he'd gotten before he'd resorted to stealing- something he'd only done once prior to being dumped in the woods. And that had been an emergency with others' lives at risk; it had been justified in his mind.

"Three weeks alone in the woods with no training," repeated Coulson, the anger becoming more apparent with every word. "You could have died, Grant. That was an incredibly reckless move."

Something about the anger in Coulson's voice, the judgment he knew was lurking behind the tone, caused Grant to twitch for half a second before he shot up to his feet. "And what was I supposed to do? I was in the middle of fucking nowhere with no idea what was around me, where the nearest city was, or if officers were even looking for me. I'd just _broken out of juvie_. I didn't exactly have an option other than waiting for Garrett to show back up and praying the police didn't find me! It wasn't exactly a picnic. Hell, I didn't even have any food for the first few days until I found my first cabin. If I'd had another option, I would have gladly taken it."

"Grant," murmured Skye, standing up and laying a hand on his shoulder. The fingers that were still interlinked with his pressed against his hand, like some kind of a reminder she was there. His eyes fell to her, though his anger with Coulson didn't diminish. Her eyes were soft and worried, fingers squeezing his shoulder softly in a clear attempt to calm him down. "No one is saying you should have done anything else. DC is pissed that Garrett put you in that position. I'm pretty sure anyone in your position would have stayed put."

"Apparently not," muttered Grant, dropping back into his seat as he noticed the way Fitz and Simmons had both backed away from him. The scientists were eyeing him with something akin to fear, not that he could blame them. The last time they'd seen him, he'd dumped them out of a plane in a floating box. Even with the box's emergency signal triggered, they had probably sat there for a while until help arrived. "Even Garrett said he was surprised I was still there. He thought I would have taken off before he got back. Obviously, I wasn't that smart."

"Staying put was probably the smartest thing you could have done, all things considered," remarked Barton, shrugging a bit when Coulson gave him a dirty look. "What? The kid was 14, didn't have any survival training, didn't know where he was, and had just broken out of Juvie. Staying put kept him hidden, gave him a chance to survey his surroundings, map the area, prepare for the worst, and he didn't have to worry about trying to avoid law enforcement or finding new shelter every day. It let him establish a base camp and focus on finding food and water rather than doing that while dodging people. That's pretty smart in my book."

"Clint does have a point," admitted Romanoff, smirking slightly as she glanced over at her partner. "Surprisingly."

"Hey, I have plenty of points!" objected Barton, pouting slightly at Romanoff. The red-head hummed in clear disbelief, her lips twitching slightly. Obviously this was some long-standing joke between the two. "I have dozens of them and they all do different things."

The bad pun hit about thirty seconds after Romanoff threw something at Barton which he nearly fell off the sofa arm dodging. If it was the pun, Barton nearly falling, the look on Coulson's face as he stared at the former Delta team members as if they were bickering children, or some combination of the above Grant wasn't sure. But for the second time that night, he found himself breaking into laughter. This time was far more controlled and didn't leave Skye looking like she might be seriously considering tranquilizing him, but was still pretty hard.

"It wasn't that funny, Ward," snapped May, irritation apparent in her voice as she glared at him.

The mention of his supposed family's name rapidly killed any amusement he found in Barton's bad pun. It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over his head and reminded him that he wasn't among friends. He was among people who'd probably be more than happy to throw him back in prison at the first sign of trouble from him.

"Grant," spoke up Skye, drawing his eyes to her. It took him half a second to realize she was speaking to May though, not him. The word was more like a reminder than anything and he watched as the women glared at each other.

"Hey now, let's not fight," broke in Trip, stepping somewhat between the two women to break their gaze. "We already discussed the whole name situation and came to a decision."

"What decision?" asked Grant before he could stop himself, half dreading the answer. What kind of discussion could they have had about his name and why would they have it?

"We were discussing what to call you," explained Simmons casually, as if it were a perfectly normal conversation for a group of people to have had. "It didn't seem accurate to call you 'Ward' after all of this and Skye found more than a few red flags that indicated they likely weren't the nicest family to be raised in."

"I thought Grant might be easier," continued Skye, looking away from May to meet his gaze with her own uncertain one. "I mean, we can call you Ward if you want, but..."

"No," stated Grant firmly, without even thinking about the answer. Namely because there wasn't an answer to think about. He didn't want to be connected to the Wards in any manner, shape, or form. Before he hadn't believed there was a choice; they were blood and that couldn't be changed. But if they weren't actually his blood family, they could rot in hell for all he cared. "Grant works."

"Wonder if that was a code of Sims'," remarked the blond woman, tilting her head a little. "Grant is Steve's middle name, right?"

Grant glanced over at Steve in question, furrowing his brows a bit. Was it? He'd heard about Steve of course, but no one had ever told him the man's full name. It was always 'Captain America' or 'Captain Rogers' or 'Steve Rogers'. No one ever said his middle name.

"It is," confirmed Steve quietly, nodding his head slowly. "You think it was intentional."

"I think if you want to hide a kid and make sure you can recall what experiment they were involved with later, you give them a name that somehow connects back to the experiment," explained the blond with a shrug. "At least, that's what I'd do."

"That you can even think of something like that is a bit disturbing, Bob," remarked a scruffy British man as he entered the room with no warning. "Please tell me you've never released an experiment anywhere."

"I've never experimented on a living creature, Hunter," stated the blond woman, 'Bob', throwing a raised eyebrow at the new man. "Have you?"

The British man, apparently named Hunter, shot her back his own raised eyebrow. "I'm not the biologist here. That would be you."

"Excuse me?" spoke up Simmons in clear insult. "I have a PhD in biology, too! Not just Agent Morse."

"Please, just call me Bobbi," requested the blond, her lips compressing slightly into an unhappy tilt. "I really, really prefer Bobbi."

"Barbara Morse," stated Grant suddenly, realization dawning on him. He'd heard of her; he hadn't met her before, but he'd heard of her. She was supposed to be a very skilled agent.

Almost immediately, Bobbi's head swiveled towards him, her brow furrowing as she met his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Right," muttered Skye, breaking in before Grant could say anything else. "You probably don't know everyone here."

"I know most of them," murmured Grant, wincing a little. He wasn't surprised or embarrassed that he didn't know everyone in the room, but he probably should have asked before that point. Or tried to figure it out on his own. Garrett would have been pissed if he'd found out how unfocused Grant was. His former SO had always said he needed to pay attention in potentially hostile situations and that's exactly what this was- a potentially hostile situation. Or at least there were hostile individuals in the room with him. He should probably be able to identify those individuals at minimum.

"You know the original team, obviously," muttered Skye, her eyes bouncing among people momentarily as she scanned the room from beside him. "And you know Hill, I think?"

"We've spoken," confirmed Hill, her voice acidic as she levelled a glare at him.

Grant had the decency to wince at that. Even he was aware his comments about her and Fury were in bad taste. "I doubt it will help, but let it be known I don't actually believe any of the bull crap I was taunting you with. I was trying to make you mad."

"Not a bad strategy under the right circumstances," remarked Romanov with a nod. "I've used it."

"And we've seen the results," added Barton, smirking slightly as he side-eyed the former Russian. "Or at least the balls hanging in your closet."

"Good thing Coulson didn't mind when yours got added to that collection," countered Romanov with a slight smirk, giving the archer her own sideways glance. "Otherwise there might have been a problem."

"Can you two stop with the bad puns?" spoke up Stark suddenly, groaning as he lifted his head. That he was in pain was obvious by the way he winced and rubbed at his eyes. "You two are like kids. Or sexually deprived adults."

"Barton doesn't swing that way," stated Romanov simply, her smirk growing. "Or at least he hasn't in eight years."

"So, still think hacking government databases with two anarchists is fun?" asked Barton with a bit of a snicker, his face clearly reflecting his amusement at the billionaire's pain.

"I didn't see Lewis being able to drink me under the table," admitted Stark as he rubbed at his temple while stumbling to his feet. "Haven't had a hangover in years."

"Tequila is Poli-mole's specialty," stated Skye, her own amused smirk crossing her lips. It grew wider when Stark tripped over the foot of the scrawny man seated beside him. The genius only managed to avoid falling over by grabbing onto Coulson. The senior agent didn't appear amused by the action at all. "I told you not to get into a drinking contest with her."

Stark muttered something that was probably incredibly unflattering and stumbled his way across the room to the bar. From there, he began rummaging through one of the cabinets. Briefly, Grant considered asking for a drink himself. Then he remembered how much alcohol he had to actually drink in order for it to have any kind of effect on him and dismissed the idea.

"Anyone want something?" asked Stark from behind the bar as he began dumping stuff into a glass. The liquid inside turned a bloody color as he added things, making something that might have been a Bloody Mary but with a lot more alcohol.

"I'm sure Grant won't argue," spoke up Romanov, glancing at Grant with a curious look.

Grant again considered the idea, but ultimately shook his head. "No thanks. It takes too much alcohol for me to feel any kind of effect."

"You sound like Rogers," remarked Stark with a faint scoff, his voice rising. "No Tony, I'm not having a drink. Alcohol doesn't affect me. I'm too good to drink."

At that point, Grant tuned the genius out, focusing on the rest of the people present instead. It wasn't as if the mad billionaire was actually saying anything and he'd heard stories about how long the man could mock people for. His eyes scanned the others, looking for some indication of what they were maybe feeling at this point so he could try to evaluate the mood of the room better; if he was going to survive this encounter he needed to know where he stood with everyone else. Which was when he realized they were all staring at him. Crap. What had he done.

Turning to Skye, he tried to figure out what he'd said that was apparently so bad, only to find her staring at him with a saddened look. One of her hands reached out to touch his cheek, stroking against the light stubble there softly. "Skye?"

"That's a side effect of the serum," explained Skye softly, her fingers dropping back down again. "Steve can't get drunk since he was treated."

"I can get drunk though," corrected Grant, rubbing the back of his neck. "Garrett took me out once and got me drunk. It just…took a lot of alcohol."

"How much?" asked Steve, catching Grant's attention again. He didn't look admonishing though; more curious than anything else.

"Um," mumbled Grant, blushing a little. "There were a few bottles of whiskey that were empty when we left, but Garrett had been drinking, too. I'm not really sure how much I actually drank…"

"Why did he take you out drinking?" asked Skye suddenly, causing Grant's attention to jump back to her. The back and forth was going to give him a headache, he just knew it.

"Because I made it into the Academy," explained Grant with a small shrug. "He said he'd get me in, but then he acted like it was amazing I'd gotten in."

"He could only do so much," spoke up Coulson quietly. Grant didn't glance over at his former boss, but he heard the man stand. Heard Coulson cross the room. From the corner of his eye, he watched Simmons and Fitz scatter a moment before his former boss appeared in front of him. A hand, firm and heavy but oddly gentle, landed on his shoulder, but he still didn't look up. Facing Coulson was harder than anyone else. Here was a man who had lost everything and Grant had helped take that away. Everyone knew SHIELD was Coulson's life, and he'd helped to destroy it. "Grant, you got into SHIELD academy because you deserved to be there. Garrett couldn't force them to take someone they didn't want. And that you got into Operations? That's more impressive. You should feel proud that you got in because that is a big achievement."

Blinking, Grant finally shifted to look at Coulson. The blatant truth of what he'd said was written across his face: Grant should feel some kind of pride for getting into the Operations Academy. That he hadn't been proud at the time- that he'd just felt excitement that he was on his way to doing some kind of good- suddenly felt very wrong. Garrett had promised he'd get into the Academy. At the time, it had just felt like Garrett had kept his promise.

"You weren't proud when you got in?" asked Simmons suddenly, popping up immediately over Coulson's shoulder, to the man's apparent displeasure. That might be because she was basically leaning against his back though. "How were you not ecstatic? I think my mum and dad still have my acceptance letter framed on the wall."

Grant felt his cheeks redden a little, though he didn't let his eyes divert elsewhere. The shock…well, it wasn't fading, but it was becoming normal. Something he could work with. He could adapt to this- he was a survivor. He could get through this.

"I was excited I was going to begin my mission," stated Grant slowly, as calmly as he could. His fingers twitched in his lap, but he otherwise did his best to call on the training he'd once received. "I was excited to begin training in earnest and to get out of the woods." The memories of that moment flashed through his eyes and he mentally braced himself for what he knew was coming next: Garrett's order he kill Buddy, his last connection to his past. The lesson had been in letting go, in eliminating things he was close to. Garrett had been emotionally preparing him to betray everyone, even the people he was closest to, when the time came. He couldn't help but wonder if his inability to kill Buddy had led to Garrett's death, though.

"But?" Skye's soft voice drew Grant from the disturbing memory of watching his friend's body hit the ground. Her hand pressed to his cheek softly, the touch pulling him completely back into the present and out of his own head.

"But what?" asked Grant, his voice stiffening a little. He'd never spoken to anyone about Buddy and he wasn't prepared to start now. Buddy was his memory, his folly, his mistake and his flaw. It was his burden to carry- both the fact that he hadn't been able to kill Buddy like Garrett wanted and the fact that he couldn't protect Buddy in the end like he'd wanted to.

"Something happened," stated Skye softly, her fingers shifting against his cheek. "What-"

"I don't want to talk about it," stated Grant with a touch of a growl, his shoulders tensing at even the thought of discussing Buddy.

"You don't have a choice here, Wa- Grant," stated Hill, her voice tight with just a hint of a threat. He didn't have to look at her to know she was scowling. "You're here because Hydra wants you for reasons we still don't completely understand. This may as well be an interrogation, if it helps you better understand what, exactly, you're doing here."

"Hill, enough," spoke up Coulson, to Grant's immense surprise. "Whatever this thing is, it probably isn't important."

"Unless it means he's still planning to stab us in the back," countered Hill venomously. "How many times are you going to allow him to tear this organization down, Coulson?"

"Enough!" snapped Skye, her hand dropping from Grant's cheek as she shot up to glare at Hill. "Look, I may not be an Academy trained agent, but I am a hacker and a fucking good one. I _know_ what I found and didn't find when I went digging in Grant's history and the one thing I didn't find was a connection to Hydra outside Garrett. I looked at other agents we know were actually Hydra and they had several things in common. Grant had none of those same things in common. He wasn't recruited from the same places as the other agents, didn't go to the same meetings or training centers, hell there's an entire pattern to their movements and what they did. Hydra was literally running a training center for their agents _inside_ SHIELD and Grant never stepped foot near it. I can't even find evidence he worked with other Hydra agents without Garrett present. For something like that to happen in an organization like SHIELD? That's freaking impossible unless it's intentional."

Taking a deep breath, she shot Grant an apologetic look before continuing. "Garrett took him off the grid for five years. Five years, Grant just vanishes. No school records, no medical files, no driver's license, nothing. He's a ghost. Everything in his file that SHIELD reviewed was falsified after the fact. I can tell you the exact dates his history in those five years was created and it was all done in a single, month-long period right before his application to the Academy was submitted. The documents say he was still living with his family when he hadn't been for years, that he'd graduated boot camp when he'd barely been there a month, and his juvie record is just gone. My best guess is that Garrett cleansed his record, then rebuilt it to SHIELD standards so Grant wouldn't look suspicious."

Blindly, she reached back towards Grant. He took her hand silently, wondering what was bothering her so much that she'd reach for him. He had to admit she had a point about Garrett monitoring him whenever he worked with other Hydra agents, but he'd always assumed Garrett was concerned that Grant would let the truth of his mission slip. That he'd tell someone Garrett was just using Hydra and didn't actually believe the crap they spewed.

"Garrett isolated Grant for five years in the woods," continued Skye, her voice dropping a little in what almost sounded like sadness. "He kept him away from other people. You're SHIELD agents, you know what a few weeks of isolation does to someone. You can imagine what five years of complete isolation would do to a teenager. You've seen the effects; hell, you've fought it. Do I really need to tell you what that would have done to him?" She gestured at Grant in that moment, shooting him a saddened look as she did.

It was hard for him to process the look she was giving him though in light of her declaration. He'd never once considered his life in the context she had laid out so plainly. Maybe it was because it was his life, but to hear her spell everything out like that was disturbing. He knew what she was getting at: captor-bonding. She was implying he'd bonded unnaturally with Garrett because Garrett had held him hostage. But that hadn't happened. He'd chosen to stay with Garrett after he'd left the woods. He'd had opportunities to leave and hadn't taken them. He hadn't been able to kill Buddy, even though Garrett had ordered him to. Victims of Stockholm Syndrome did whatever they were told. They defended their captors to the end. He didn't have Stockholm Syndrome. He hadn't bonded abnormally with Garrett. It wasn't possible.

"Grant." Again, Skye's voice drew him back to the present, except this time there was nothing calm about it. Her hands were on his face, tilting his head so she could meet his eyes, her own wide and worried. "Grant, breath. You need to calm down."

"What?" asked Grant, which was when he realized it felt hard to breath. His breathing was rapid, his heart pounding in his ears and how had he not noticed the panic that was pressing against his chest? "What's-"

"Grant, focus on me," ordered Skye, her voice bordering on terrified. "You're safe here. No one," those two words were a little louder than necessary for Grant to hear, "is going to hurt you."

"I don't- what?" He felt so confused; why was he panicking? What was going on? What had happened? Why did he feel so scared?

"Okay, that's enough of this," ordered Steve suddenly, appearing beside Coulson and Skye. For a moment, Grant expected Steve to pick him up and shake him or strike him, something. It's what had always happened before when he panicked. He wasn't supposed to panic. Panicking got people killed. "I think we all need a break."

"Break?" asked Grant, his chest tightening in something he momentarily recognized as fear. There was no way in hell he could take on Steve. Even if he had some of the super soldier serum in his blood, the man was the original. He'd probably crush Grant.

Steve nodded, his shoulders shifting slightly into a more relaxed state. "Yeah, a break. You're getting overwhelmed and it isn't helping you or anyone else."

Overwhelmed. This didn't feel like being overwhelmed- he remembered how that felt. Overwhelmed was how he felt when Garrett abandoned him in the woods. Overwhelmed was how he'd felt in Juvie when his brother was trying to get him locked away. Overwhelmed was how he felt when he touched the staff. The tightness in his chest, the shortness of breath, he remembered that. It was vague, like some bad dream more than an actual memory, but he remembered it all the same. It had felt like drowning.

But this, this was a different feeling. It wasn't the sensation that the world was weighing on his shoulders- he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. Everything he'd thought was true about his life was just disintegrating in front of his eyes. His world was falling apart and it was tearing him apart, too.

"Come on, Grant," stated Skye quietly, her fingers coiling around his softly a moment before she tugged at his arm.

Automatically, he stood up, letting her guide him. He watched half-aware as the others in the room remained seated as she pulled him towards the elevators at the end of the room. He didn't object as she guided him inside one and didn't ask where they were going when she wordlessly pressed one of the buttons on the panel. Instead, he stared straight ahead at the wall, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened.

He was adopted basically at gunpoint.

Garrett may have been trying to force some kind of captor-bond with him by abandoning him in the woods.

He might have been shielded from Hydra by Garrett.

But why? Why would Garrett try to control his interaction with other Hydra members? Wouldn't it have been more beneficial if he'd be allowed to talk to them himself?

"I think Garrett might have known or at least suspected you were a super soldier experiment," stated Skye softly, snapping his attention back to reality. What? How had she known what he was thinking about? "You were talking outload."

In front of them, the elevator doors slid open suddenly, revealing a long hallway with many doors. Silently, Skye led him to one of the doors, keying something into the panel beside it. Said door slid open almost immediately, revealing a blank room with a bed and little else. Leading him inside, Skye gently pushed him onto the bed.

"You should try to sleep, Grant," stated Skye quietly, moving around the side of the bed to pull the blankets back. "The drugged sleep we brought you here in doesn't count."

"I don't think I can sleep," muttered Grant as he flopped backwards to stare at the ceiling. The bed fluffed slightly beneath him, ruffling his hair a little. He needed a haircut. It was something he should look into.

Skye made a soft noise a moment before the bed dipped beside him. Her fingers brushed against his hair lightly, the strands shifting uncomfortably against his head as she did. "I don't think I've ever seen your hair this long."

"I need it cut," remarked Grant, his eyes remaining locked on the ceiling. "Even when I was living in the woods, my hair wasn't this long."

Her fingers paused in his hair, her clear discomfort with the fact she wasn't comfortable with the idea he'd lived in the woods for years evident. Still, the pause was a brief one before her fingers resumed their gentle motion. It was actually borderline uncomfortable for him- no one was ever this soft where he was concerned. He suspected she needed to do this though- that she needed to somehow attempt to sooth him. So he let her fingers run through his hair and let the movement lull him a little. If Skye wanted to hurt him, he was pretty sure she would have already. Or she at least wouldn't have defended him like she had earlier.

"Get some sleep Grant," repeated Skye as his eyes closed and the edge of sleep began to creep over his mind. "You're safe here."

He doubted that somehow- he'd never been safe anywhere in his life. Even his home hadn't been safe; it was a foreign word to him. But he didn't think Skye would let anyone drag him away in his sleep. He didn't think he'd wake up strapped to a table with scientists poking him with needles, burning him, or any of the rest of the things he'd awoken to when he was in the prison. Skye had gotten him out, so at least to that extent, he could probably trust her not to hurt him. Or at least trust her enough that he could fall asleep.

* * *

- _31 Years Ago, Border of USSR and China-_

Arthur felt like his balls were going to freeze off, even with seven layers of clothing between him and the frozen air. That was inside air, too. It should never be cold enough anywhere that even the inside air was half frozen. Yet, here at the edge of the USSR, it was that cold. God, if he ever came back to China, he was going to stay somewhere that didn't freeze or snow. There were southern areas like that- he knew it.

Beside him, his dubious Soviet guard shifted, eyes scanning the area in front of the truck slowly. If he was afraid or aware, Arthur wasn't sure, but he didn't really like the man's uneasy gaze all the same. It meant he knew something. Or at least that he knew enough to be afraid of something. Then again, Arthur was nearly positive the man was superstitious. That kind of paranoia could make anyone jump at shadows.

Plus, they were only there to pick up a scientist they'd just bribed a government official to break out of a prison work camp. Nothing noteworthy or illegal in that. No one would be the slightest bit interested in them. Nope, not at all.

Mentally, Arthur let his head thump lightly against the car's dashboard. Why had he agreed to do this again? Better yet, why couldn't someone else have come collected this Dr. Earnic? Why wasn't someone else freezing their balls off waiting on some scientist who was probably so old they'd take an eternity just to reach the car where he was resting. Assuming they'd even given her a lift that was; Soviets could definitely be hard bastards.

The flash of headlights passing over the windshield broke Arthur out of his thoughts and immediately had him on high alert. There shouldn't have been anyone else out there that late at night, meaning their associates had more than likely just show up. Still, Arthur didn't leave the car. He wouldn't until he saw some evidence these people had Dr. Earnic in their company. Leaning forward, he attempted to peer through the fogged up piece of glass towards where he thought the car may have parked. That these were the men he'd been looking for was confirmed half a minute later when a person in a bright red parka suddenly climbed from the back of the car and turned in their direction. The red parka was the signal, and Arthur didn't hesitate to nod at his guard.

Almost immediately, the other man flashed the car's headlights three times and the woman moved around to stand in front of the vehicle. Arthur felt his breath catch as soon as he caught sight of her face; she was beautiful.

Even through the snowy conditions, he could tell she was tall and probably relatively slender given the enormous jacket she was wrapped in hung almost comically on her frame. It was hard to make out her features completely between the snow and glare from the headlights, but the dramatic lighting almost made the profile of her face more striking. Particularly the way it slid over her snow pale skin.

He'd been expecting a woman who looked more like a man than an object of femininity; usually female engineers were not the prettiest women to have ever existed. He didn't really care about that of course; his brain was usually too preoccupied to worry about women. And in the few situations where he had chosen to pursue a woman, their personalities had outweighed their beauty. He had to admit though, Earnic might be a first for him. Or at least a temptation.

A knock at his window suddenly brought him out of his thoughts and face to face with the woman who he was beginning to seriously hope was Dr. Earnic- and not just because he was freezing his balls off. So, without thought, he obliged the woman and lowered the window some so he could speak with her clearly. Cold wind flooded the car almost immediately, biting at his face and he had to work hard to keep from automatically closing the window again.

"Dr. Earnic?" called Arthur over the wind, hoping she could hear him. When she nodded a moment later, he reached back and unlocked the back door of the vehicle, watching as the car in front of them backed away into the night again. Immediately, the woman half yanked open the door, diving into the backseat. Arthur couldn't roll the window up fast enough.

"Thank you," spoke up a heavy British voice from the back half a second before the woman's head popped up beside Arthur's own. He did his best to hold a straight face as his eyes met deep blue ones, though the woman's face was tense and emotionless in the moment. "The Soviets are not the most hospitable of individuals."

"Glad we could help," replied Arthur, gulping a bit as an errant strand of brown hair tumbled across the woman's face. Easily, she brushed it aside, flicking the clump away as if it had never been there. It was for the best- if she hadn't, then he would have and that would have been bad. He just met this woman- she was probably significantly older than him at minimum even if she only looked 28 at most. "We're hoping you'll be willing to return the favor."

"And what is Sims planning this time?" asked Earnic with a put upon sigh, as if the idea was a task. "Last I heard, he had some ideas concerning the revival of Erskine's project."

"He might have succeeded, too," interjected Arthur, making a bit of a face. They'd just smuggled this woman out of a Soviet prison camp. The least she could show was some gratitude. "His experiment is currently incubating. We'll see what happens in a few years."

"Biologists," remarked Earnic with a small shake of her head, "everything they do is a multi-year ordeal that primarily consists of waiting."

Feeling his eyebrow twitch, Arthur was quick to flip around so he was facing forward again. "I recall reading that most engineering projects take years to complete."

"Yes," confirmed Earnic, her voice close to his ear when she spoke. "Years of very hands on work. Constant work with signs of progress. There is no waiting with nothing to show for it, simply results."

"Our results take time to get," stated Arthur with a faint huff. This woman may be beautiful, but she was beginning to rapidly wear on his nerves. "If your results were half as complicated as ours, you'd be in the same boat."

Softly, she laughed before leaning back a little, shifting around so she could see him. Though Arthur didn't look at her again, he could see her face in his peripheral gaze when he glanced to the right.

"I was wondering if you were a biologist," remarked Earnic, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Also, I apologize for the ribbing. I've been in that camp too long- the chance to tease someone has been nonexistent and that has led to an exceedingly tedious life."

Well, at least that explained some things. Not that he could blame her; he'd probably be cracking as many jokes as possible in her shoes. "Did they hurt you?"

"That's a rather dense question," countered Earnic, her voice dipping momentarily into dark territory. "I was their prisoner. They treated me as such."

"I guess they would," muttered Arthur, suddenly embarrassed by his question. Because asking if the Soviets had hurt her was such a brilliant idea. Well, at least it was warm where they were heading and she'd be able to get a shower. Somehow, he suspected that was something she hadn't done much recently. "How long were you there?"

"A year," stated Earnic, her voice stiff. "So, tell me, what is Sims' planning that he needs my help on."

Accepting the fact that he wasn't going to get to ask his questions for now (and that it was probably better not to ask when they'd just sprung her), Arthur switched gears mentally and again turned to Earnic. "He wants to build a research facility of sorts and he wants your help to do it."

Slowly, a smile crept over Earnic's face as she leaned forward, interest glinting in her eyes. "I'm listening."


	3. Chapter 3

**So this chapter is long and really...twisting. Grant goes through a lot of emotional shifts in this. A lot of them. People also appear to be mad in places and then not be mad without a lot of explanation for why. That's literally because this is Grant's POV and at more than one time in this chapter, he talks aloud to himself. He doesn't realize he's doing it and the others aren't telling him because it's a source of information to them. If you have questions about why people do what they do, then please ask. I tried to make this as clear as I could, but Grant's head is still really screwed up right now and I wanted to keep that kind of confusion present. It will clarify starting in the next chapter, when he starts to get his feet under him. But for this chapter, his thoughts are still a little messy and disjointed.**

 **Also, there is discussion in here of the pod. It's kind of unclear what Grant's actual motivations were in dropping the pod in this, largely because Grant himself isn't 100% sure why he did it and says as much. Please, watch how things are said in this. I do everything with intent and the way things are said is as important as what is said.**

 **Enjoy guys, and I'm sorry this took so long to finish.**

* * *

 _-Present Day, Stark Tower-_

His eyes flew open as Grant forced himself awake, the sharp laugh of the Hydra scientist who'd taken such pleasure in his pain still echoing through his mind. He never moved a muscle though, Garrett's training holding him still. It was one of many things Grant was grateful Garrett had taught him, particularly when he felt someone shift beside him.

Turning carefully, Grant found his face inches from Skye's. Apparently, she had stayed like she'd said she would. It was surprising how peaceful she looked as she slept/ After everything that she'd seen, that had happened to her, he would have expected her to sleep as fitfully as he did. But instead, she appeared dead asleep, untroubled and uninterrupted.

Not like him. Not like his nightmares of mad scientists where he was dragged fighting into their lab. Dreams where he was cut apart, pokes and prodded, and injected with mysterious substances. Were he was little more than an experiment whose only value was in his genetics.

Anger flashed through Grant like a fire; immediately he sat up and maneuvered himself from the bed, away from Skye. She hadn't actually done anything except rescue him from the prison (which was a very good thing), but it didn't stop him from resenting her in that moment. She had been the one to tell him the truth about his family. She was the one who'd torn his world apart. Yet there she lay, asleep like she didn't have a care in the world; and in that moment, he rested her for her peace. Peace he didn't have and probably never would. She'd forced him to face a reality he didn't want to and she got to walk away unharmed.

He loved her normally, look to her for light in his life. She was the first person he'd met in a long time who hadn't looked at him like he was a tool or a weapon. When she'd looked at him, she'd seen a human. It endeared her to him.

But right that moment, he hated her. He hated the fact that she had turned his world on its head. He hated the fact that she'd stripped away the little normalcy in his life.

He needed to be as far away from her as possible. Not permanently, but while he got his temper under control, he needed to stay away from her. If he didn't get away, he might snap at her. Might say something he'd regret. He needed to get away; needed to breathe without Skye's worried gaze following him everywhere.

Creeping from the room, Grant found himself in a hall with a multitude of doors leading to who knew where. He vaguely recalled Skye leading him down from an elevator before, but he couldn't begin to guess where it was. He'd been too tired, to disoriented, to figure out where he was in that moment. He'd trusted Skye to get him to safety, and now he kind of wished he hadn't. At least if he'd come down on his own, he'd know where he was going.

He didn't need to know, though. He was an ex-SHIELD agent, and a good one at that. Escaping a building he didn't know the layout of was one of his classes at the academy. Literally, it had been an entire class.

Closing his eyes, Grant took a deep breath before turning to the left and starting down the hall. At least this wasn't an enemy base- he didn't have to worry about being shot if he was caught here. Well, okay, Hill might actually shoot him and May likely wouldn't pull her punches, but no one else seemed interested in murdering him. Hill and May weren't people to take lightly, but at least he could avoid them. They were only two people and he'd done it before.

Following the hall's various twists and turns, Grant tried to calm his anger. He didn't want to snap at Skye- she was possibly his only true advocate right now. Well, okay, maybe Steve too, but that was probably more through obligation than actual care. Skye had broken him out of prison because she didn't like what was being done to him. She'd put herself in harm's way for him. Being mad at her for telling him the truth everyone else had been hiding was just stupid.

"You know, walking around here without paying attention is kinda a bad idea." Grant nearly fell into fight mode as a female voice suddenly cut through the area. As much as he despised it, his time in prison had caused his already existing paranoia to skyrocket. Spinning, he found a dark-haired woman in thick framed black glasses standing in the hall. Her hair was everywhere and she looked like she'd slept in a wind tunnel. The clothes she was wearing- a sweatshirt and wrinkled jeans- suggested she'd maybe done just that.

"I don't mean someone is gonna attack you or anything," continued the woman in the weird, rambling way of her. She almost reminded him of Skye, but more mentally disorganized. "I mean stuff happens around here. Like Tony falling out of the ceiling or Steve's parkour stuff."

"Steve's parkour stuff," repeated Grant in disbelief, momentarily becoming distracted by the image of Captain America attempting to do something better associated with trespassing than wholesome moral values.

"Stuff because he kinda miscalculated and we lost a wall," explained the woman with a shrug, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "I mean, he tried, but…"

"You don't let him practice inside anymore," surmised Grant, shaking his head a little. The idea that Steve did parkour was…weird. It seemed too modern for the man.

"Basically," confirmed the brunette, stretching her arms above her head with a yawn. It shoved her rather…ample chest directly out in front of her. The weird part for Grant was that it didn't seem the least bit appealing to him. Yeah, they were nice and it wasn't like he didn't notice them (he was a guy after all), but they just didn't seem interesting. Maybe he was still exhausted.

"We kicked him and Thor into the gym that has the reinforced walls," continued the woman with much pause, dropping her arms back to her sides. "I'm kinda questioning the structural integrity of the walls at this point, but hey, not my problem. Tony's the one who has to fix it if they break."

"Tony Stark," stated Grant, needing to clarify that they were talking about the same person he thought they were.

"Yep," confirmed the woman, popping the 'p' a little. Tilting her head down the hallway, she began walking in the same direction he had been a minute ago. "C'mon dude, let's get you some coffee. You still look like the walking dead."

"Still?" asked Grant, a little confused. He hadn't seen this woman among the others, yet she seemed to know who he was. Without thought, he fell into step with her- at least she seemed to know her way around. The kitchen or breakroom wouldn't be a bad place to go, either. He was starving and there might be something worth eating there.

"Yep! I watched the footage from your powwow after I woke up," she explained with a grin as they rounded the corner and came face to face with the elusive elevator. The doors opened before they'd finished approaching, causing Grant to falter for a moment in case someone stepped out. The woman didn't pause though, waving a bit at the ceiling as she stepped onto the lift. "Thanks Jarvis."

"Of course, Miss Lewis," replied the same omnipresent voice from when Grant first woke up. He didn't jump this time, though it did send a shutter down his spine. For all Fitz, Simmons, and Skye had teased him about his lack of skill with technology, some of it he actually _did_ understand- and it scared him. "Good to see you up and about, Mr. Grant."

"Uh, thanks?" asked Grant uncertainly, his eyes darting around the ceiling as he tried to find a place to look as he spoke to the disembodied voice that was Jarvis.

"Don't bother trying to find a place to look when you're talking with Jarvis," advised 'Miss Lewis' as she half tugged him into the elevator. The doors snapped shut almost immediately once they were both inside, the elevator beginning to rise without prompting. "Most people do the whole 'stare at the ceiling' thing, but he's literally the building. Think that weird smart home thing from that movie when we were kids. You know, the one where the family got locked inside their own house by the AI controlling it?"

"I don't think I saw that one," muttered Grant, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember a movie even remotely like the one she was describing. Then again, maybe he had seen it- Maynard had thought it was funny to show him movies that would scare him. "If I did, I'm pretty sure I suppressed the memory."

She shrug-hummed a little, shoving her hands into the pocket on the front of her sweatshirt. "Yeah, I can see that." Pausing, she turned fully towards him and offered one of her hands suddenly. "I'm Darcy, by the way. Think I forgot to mention that."

"Yeah, you did," confirmed Grant, though he tentatively took her hand and shook it all the same.

"Right," laughed Darcy, like it was normal for her to forget to introduce herself. She dropped his hand then, shoving it back with its twin into her sweatshirt pocket. "Sorry, haven't been awake long. It happens."

Grant nodded slowly, considering if he wanted to try to comment or not when the door suddenly opened. Darcy was out immediately, heading into the large room he recalled from the discussion last night. He followed quickly behind her as she began maneuvering along the edge, turning through a small door into the kitchen. Or at least what he'd assumed was the kitchen last night when Barton had come out with glasses. For all he knew, Stark had built a bar room into the place.

The scent of coffee wafted around the room as he stepped inside, reinforcing the idea that it was, in fact, a kitchen. Well, if someone could call the massive space a kitchen. It was large enough that it looked like three kitchens compressed into one. He was still staring around the room in awe when he felt something warm press into his hand. Blinking, he glanced down to find a coffee cup being forced into his hands by Darcy, her lips tilted into a knowing smile.

"Pretty big, right?" she asked, sipping at her own coffee as she took up a spot leaning on the island that split the room roughly in half. "I asked Stark why his kitchen was so big when I moved in. All he said was that he liked to throw parties." She shrugged a little, apparently not believing the story. "Personally, I think the whole freaking tower is to compensate for something, but hey, I don't really wanna find out if I'm right, either. Some things I don't need to know."

Grant didn't even let his mind process what Darcy was saying- he didn't need a mental image of Stark's junk in his head, no matter how inaccurate (or possibly accurate) it was. Instead, he focused his attention on the woman in front of him. He didn't like people as a rule, and Darcy wasn't an exception. Except she was already more of an exception than most because she was like Skye. That didn't mean he wanted to be in her company of course, but it did mean she was more tolerable than someone like Stark would be. At least he had a rough idea of what to expect from her.

"So, how you feeling?" asked Darcy, leveling a serious and worried look at him. It was a startling change from the carefree woman he'd been speaking with before. "Based on what Skye said, it sounds like you've been through hell."

"Alright," stated Grant, even though it was a lie. He felt like he was falling apart still, like his world couldn't be righted again without some serious help. Everything was like some twisted dream he couldn't escape and it was driving him crazy.

"Bullshit," stated Darcy, shaking her head and setting her cup aside. "After the crap you've been through, you've got to feel like hell." Thinning her lips a little, she passed a look over him before releasing a heavy sigh. "Skye said you were stubborn and close-lipped. Guess it was the drugs that still had you talking last night. Can't imagine whatever they gave you was good for you."

"Don't think it matters anyway," muttered Grant, his eyes falling to his coffee. "I'm some kind of self-healing experiment."

"It's hard to say what the serum did to you," remarked Darcy, her fingers drumming slightly on the counter. "I did some digging into the old files on Erskine's experiment. Military kept copies of everything he did, but most of it was encoded gibberish to them. Can't say it was much better for me, but I did manage to pull some stuff on Steve, too." Fishing into her sweatshirt pocket for a moment, she suddenly pulled a flash drive from seemingly nowhere and offered it to Grant. "Mostly I focused on the medical stuff, not the personal. Figured you could ask him about that rather than read it in some dry suit's writing."

"Suit?" repeated Grant, an eyebrow raising even as he took the drive. The term raised a red flag for him- it was generally what anarchists and activist groups opposing government policy used. He'd been trained to watch for it when dealing with people. Folding his fingers around the drive, he allowed his training to take over. The woman knew computers, or at least he was assuming she did if she was handing him medical files on Steve on a flash drive. She was friends with Skye and used derogatory language when discussing government officials…. "You're Rising Tide."

"Bingo," confirmed Darcy, smirking even as she picked up her cup. "It's how I met Skye, actually. She's legacy. Legendary in some circles. It's why we still let her on the message boards, even though we all know she's joined the dark side."

"How did a Rising Tide hacker end up living at Stark Tower?" asked Grant, somewhat floored by the idea. Did Hill know? Or anyone else for that matter? Were they aware there was an agent of an enemy hacker organization in their midst?

"I came in as Jane's assistant, but I think Stark offered me a job around the fifth short of Tequila last night," stated Darcy with a shrug. "Don't remember if I took it or not. Might have called him a corporate puppet and said no."

Grant wasn't proud of the fact he choked on his coffee, but that wasn't the usual reaction people had to Tony Stark offering them a job. "What?"

Darcy just shrugged, checked her clock before somehow downing her coffee in nearly one go. "What can I say? I like Jane." Spinning, she easily placed her cup in the sink and headed for the door before Grant could fully catch up on what was happening. "Sorry to drink and run, but I've got a meeting with a mainframe and some covert files. Catch ya later. Steve's in the gym, Jarvis can tell you where it is. Also, there's a laptop in the living room you can use. Password is 'Still not calling him Santa' with spaces, no capitals."

"Wait, what?" asked Grant as Darcy disappeared through the door. What the hell did that even mean? Not calling who Santa? Did the laptop have a Christmas theme on it or something?

His question never received an answer either. Instead, it was met by a silence that indicated Darcy had somehow disappeared into the building and abandoned him in the kitchen. Great. Well, at least he had coffee.

Garrett had forcefully weaned him from the stuff when he got hooked on it at the Academy, but now he wondered if he'd ever been truly dependent on it or if he'd just been mildly impacted. At least it tasted good- that was what he'd really missed when it gave it up. The warmth and taste had somehow always managed to sooth him. He suspected it had something to do with the woods. Garrett had brought him coffee sometimes and it had chased off the cold. Even now, the warm liquid helped warm him.

"Y-you aren't s-supposed to- to um, to walk- to walk around alone."

Grant blinked a little, his eyes sweeping across the room to meet Fitz's eyes. He hadn't realized he had zoned out until the man had spoken. That wasn't exactly healthy- he needed to remain aware of his surroundings.

"Where- where is uh- Skye, where is Skye," demanded Fitz, watching Grant wearily as he hovered in the doorway. "Or Steve."

"Skye's sleeping," replied Grant, his voice rough when it fell from his lips. Tight. He probably should be concerned by that, but he was more perturbed by what was a very pronounced stutter from Fitz. The engineer was always a bit twitchy, but he hadn't stuttered like that. A quick once over added to his concern- notable tremors in his hands and heavy bags under his eyes. Fitz looked terrible- nothing like the man Grant remembered him to be. He'd noticed it during the meeting, but seeing it now, it was more apparent that Fitz wasn't well.

"And Steve?" pressed Fitz, the tremors increasing somewhat. Without much thought, Grant grabbed a chair and pulled it out, spinning it towards Fitz. The engineer looked at the seat like it might bite him and shuffled a bit further against the doorframe instead.

"Fitz, you look like you're about to fall over," stated Grant, though he released the seat and stepped back. He could recognize fear when he saw it- and why wouldn't Fitz be afraid of him? He'd dropped the man out of a pod in a plane. Never mind it saved Fitz and Simmons both from certain death or that it saved their friend from having to murder them when he was being blatantly manipulated. Grant might have been willing to go along with what Garrett did, but he didn't like the idea of using someone's kid to make them do something. He did have morals, even if they were a little shady at times.

"I'm f-fine," insisted Fitz, the stutter increasing momentarily. He watched as the engineer tried to straighten up and make himself more intimidating. It didn't work, but the way Fitz looked at he stood there made him want to back down for the engineer's sake. "Wh-where is Steve?"

"Darcy said he was in the gym," stated Grant quietly, leaning against the counter slowly. "She didn't mention that I needed a supervisor."

Fitz's fingers twitched at his side half a moment before tightened them into a fist and let out several stuttered curses. "She must have seen me coming."

It was immediately obvious to Grant what Fitz was talking about- Darcy had left the scientist to guard him so she could attend to other business. Or go goof off. Not that Grant was going to complain- it would give him a chance to speak with Fitz, maybe even apologize. At minimum, maybe he could find out what was going on with the man.

"I-I'm going to kill her," muttered Fitz, his lips twisting into a scowl. His stutter seemed to be getting worse the more upset he got, which further bothered Grant. This wasn't like when Fitz got flustered; this was a full-blown stutter. The engineer definitely hadn't had one of those before. "I do-don't like you."

"I noticed," assured Grant, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I swear though Fitz, I'm not going to hurt you."

"You dr-dropped me and, uh, me and…and Simmons! You dropped us from a- a, uh, a plane!" Grant had the good grace to wince at Fitz's statement. Even bouncing off the surface of the water in that pod couldn't have been fun, after all. The anger that flashed through the engineer's eyes following his words was worse in some ways though. "Y-you almost killed us."

"And I'm sorry about that," stated Grant, his voice growing momentarily frustrated. Why couldn't Fitz just understand that it was a tactical choice? He and Simmons were alive and a few nightmares from falling out of a plane were better than being dead. "But my choices were: drop the pod and take the risk you _might_ get hurt to get you off the plane, throw open the door and shoot you both in the head like Garrett wanted me to, or let Deathlok shoot you both in the head in order to ensure Garrett kept his son alive and safe. I didn't have a lot of choices and we were literally in the air, so there weren't exactly a lot of viable exits that didn't involve parachutes anyway. Besides, the pod had a flotation failsafe and contained a distress signal. I just had to hope someone found you."

For a moment, Fitz just stared at him like he was some kind of idiot. Then, the engineer did the opposite of what Grant expected him to- he took the chair that Grant had pulled out for him earlier. Still, even sitting, Fitz remained silent for a long moment following Grant's declaration. It was starting to make him nervous when Fitz finally bothered to speak up. "The p-pod didn't float."

Grant's brain came to a rather abrupt halt at that declaration. _Wait, what? But it was supposed to float. It's literally a safety device_. That couldn't be right. "What do you mean-"

"It didn't f-float," repeated Fitz, his voice tensing as anger began to leak into his tone. "The p-pod sank to the, uh, the bottom of the- the ocean instead. My brain, it was, um, it was deprived of- of ox- of oxy- of oxygen." The last bit of the statement was made in frustration, clearly driven by his inability to state things clearly. "It b-broke me."

Grant felt his stomach jerk. Hard. The pod sank? But he'd checked, it was supposed to float. It doubled as an emergency pod- that's how medical pods _worked._ That didn't make any sense.

"No, I checked," insisted Grant, his hands gripping the counter tight. He could feel the blood draining from his face. Had he been wrong? Did the pod not float? "I checked the specs when they loaded it on the plane with Skye. The pod was supposed to float. I made sure it did, for her safety."

Slowly, Fitz shook his head, leveling eyes that were becoming more sad than scared by the minute. "It mal- it malfun- it didn't work right. Nothing," Fitz didn't even bother trying to say the word, just made a shaky motion Grant figured was supposed to mean either explosion or expansion. "We sank."

Bile turned in Grant's stomach. Of course, when he dropped the pod, he knew there was a chance they could get hurt. Knew it was possible no one would come for them. It had been a slim risk though- he'd figured Coulson or someone was monitoring the distress lines that wasn't Hydra. Plus, they'd been close to the coast. A boat or someone was bound to spot them. He hadn't even considered the idea that the pod might sink. That he might have killed the scientists as surely as if he'd shot them both in the head. He felt sick.

"W- G-Grant?" called Fitz, the scientist suddenly standing very close to him. It took him half a second to realize the man was actually gripping his arm, helping to hold him up. He'd broken Fitz, and the man was helping to hold him up. "Maybe y-you should sit."

Sitting, that might be good. He felt kind of like he might have just been punched in the gut. He wasn't actually sure _why_ he felt like he might have been punched in the gut, but he did all the same. The possibility that they could be hurt when he ejected the pod had existed, but it was a calculated risk. Maybe it was how badly he'd miscalculated that was bothering him so much? Or the way they'd been hurt? It didn't really make sense to him, but he supposed either could be a reason.

He felt Fitz push him slightly, and nearly lashed out at the man. It was only his training, the part of it that gave him so much control over his body, that stopped him from causing Fitz any more harm. He felt the muscles in his arms tense in restraint and, almost immediately, Fitz released him and scurried backwards. The fear he saw when he met the scientist's eyes again actually hurt, for some reason. Fitz should be afraid of him- he could snap the man in two. That was probably more literal than Grant wanted to think about if the stuff with the serum was true and it had taken hold. God, if that was true…

Anger flared in his chest again at the thought of the lie his life had been, and this time he wasn't able to stop himself from grabbing the nearest object and smashing it rather brutally against the counter. Of course, that object had to be his coffee cup. The delicate container shattered easily, the handle snapping in two in his grasp.

Pain radiated through his hand as porcelain shards embedded themselves in his skin. The scent of blood closely followed and, when he lifted his hand from the counter, he could see the red substance leaking from his skin very clearly. Multiple cuts littered the edge of his palm and his knuckles, the glint from the embedded porcelain catching in the light of the kitchen. He couldn't take his eyes off it, the pain wrestling with the anger. Everything rolled through his head, from the doctor's at the prison to dropping the pod to his time in the woods. How much of his life was him and how much was due to some mad scientist using him as a plaything? How much of his life had _actually_ been in his control? Yeah, he'd made the decision to go with Garrett, but if he hadn't been with the Wards, then maybe he wouldn't have landed in Juvie in the first place. If he hadn't been stolen from the USSR, then maybe he'd be somewhere else. Somewhere better. Something better than some jacked up science experiment gone wrong. Maybe then he wouldn't have been in that prison. Maybe then he wouldn't have been dragged out of his cell, repeatedly drugged, cut into, and treated like a rare creature rather than a living person.

Cursing vaguely caught his attention, though he didn't look up from his damaged hand. His brain felt foggy as he battled with his rage, trying to force that particular monster back into its hole. He'd never deny he was an angry man- that would be futile. Normally though, his anger was something he could control. Garrett had given him that power. The man had taught him how to control his emotions, particularly his rage. But right then, he couldn't seem to summon that training to hand. It felt buried somewhere, out of reach.

"Ward!" The sound of someone shouting his last name (or what he'd always assumed was his last name) cut through the fog better than it should have. His mind snapped immediately to attention, the soldier in him forcing everything else back to focus on whatever the crisis at hand was. It took him half a second to realize the shout was May's harsh snap and that there were suddenly more people in the room than there had been a second ago. How the hell had he missed that?

Blinking, he looked up to find the female specialist staring at him from a few feet away, eying him as if she suspected he might attack at any moment. Trip stood immediately behind her, the same weary look on his face. There was a third person too, the tall man with the shaved head that he hadn't recognized earlier. He was further back though, standing near the door where Grant suspected Fitz probably was.

"Ward, look at me." Immediately, Grant's eyes moved to May, her commanding tone doing more to keep his brain focused than anything he could have done. "I need you to say something, anything to tell me you're here with us."

"Uh, what?" asked Grant, his brain not completely understanding what she meant. Here with them? How could he be anywhere else? What did that even mean? "What does that even mean?"

"It means you flashed back on us, man," stated Trip, moving a little closer. That was the point at which Grant noticed blood dripping down Trip's arm. Why was Trip bleeding? He knew why _he_ was bleeding, but why was Trip?

"Flashed- what?" repeated Grant, still not completely understanding what the hell was happening.

"Y-you re-retrea- uh," stuttered Fitz, his head popping up around May's other side, though he remained very far back and well out of reach.

"You disappeared somewhere in your head," spoke up the bald man as he suddenly stepped around Trip and approached. May tensed as he did, but the other man ignored her and came to a stop immediately in front of Grant.

"Mack-" started May, only for the man, apparently named Mack, to wave her off.

"Relax, he's back with us," stated Mack, nodding downward at Grant's hand as he refocused on him. "Though I will feel better once you drop the coffee cup turned knife in your hand."

Blinking, Grant glanced down to where Mack had nodded and immediately understood what he meant. There was a rather large, jagged shard of porcelain gripped tightly in his hand. Blood dripped from the tip of the shard, some possibly from Trip and some definitely from his own hand; he could feel where the sharp edges were cutting into his skin.

Dropping the makeshift weapon immediately, Grant watched it clatter to the floor and shatter further. The sound seemed to echo in the dead quiet of the room. Idly, he wondered if it was symbolic of his sanity, which seemed to be rapidly fracturing like the cup had.

"That's better," stated Mack, a faint smile in his tone. When Grant looked back up, he found the man offering him a somewhat crooked little smile, relief clear on his features. "Think you'd be okay with someone looking at your hands? They're bleeding pretty good."

Slowly, Grant nodded, glancing down at both of his hands. Blood was pooling in the palm of one hand and leaking from a variety of cuts on the other. Several had already clotted, the ones that didn't contain bits of coffee cup he was guessing, and he knew they'd be healed in a day or two, tops.

"I need a verbal response there, Grant," insisted Mack, his voice weary but firm. "After what just happened, I need you to keep talking."

"What did happen?" asked Grant, his fingers flexing a bit. Mack motioned for Grant to give him one of his hands, which Grant did without protest, offering the hand with the least damage for inspection.

"Can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure you either had a flashback or a dissociative moment," explained Mack as he careful examined Grant's hand, cuts along his knuckles and fingers. "Fitz said you were talking, then got really quiet and suddenly smashed a cup. He shouted for help and the three of us," Mack paused in his examination to indicate himself, May, and Trip, "responded. Trip tried to approach you and help, but the second he touched you, you grabbed that piece of cup and stabbed him with it." Releasing Grant's palm, he motioned for the other hand. Grant wearily offered it to Mack, fingers twitching as the clotting blood began to pull at his skin. "You remember any of that?"

"I remember smashing the cup in anger," stated Grant slowly, his brow furrowing some. Mostly that was what he remembered- the anger and confusion over the last few minutes. "Someone cursed, I think?"

"That would have been Trip when you stabbed him," informed Mack, releasing Grant's other hand and standing. He headed around the counter and began pulling open drawers, stopping a moment later as he pulled two towels from what Grant assumed was a drawer and stepped back around the island. He offered one to Grant and the other to Trip, though May took the cloth and passed it to the other specialist. Grant took the towel he was offered and pressed it to his palm, wincing as he felt something dig further into his skin. Probably more porcelain. "We need to get you both to medical-"

"No!" snapped Grant, his fingers curling automatically tighter around the towel. His heartrate shot up at the word, flashes from his earlier dream and memories from the prison shooting to the forefront of his mind. "No medical."

"Your hand is bleeding pretty-" started Mack, but Grant firmly shook his head, effectively cutting the man off.

"I'm not going to medical," repeated Grant, his voice rising a bit as fear and panic began to creep in. The urge to flee was rapidly increasing, as was the need to fight if necessary to get away.

"Maybe med-medical isn't the best idea," pipped up Fitz suddenly, his voice a little stronger than before. Grant wondered if it was the presence of more people than just them that was helping. "The people at the other, uh, place. The prison. They did med-er medical, uh, medical-"

"Medical experiments on him, right," muttered Mack, nodding his head as if Fitz had actually finished his own sentence. The look of understanding that crossed Mack's face was at odds with the frustration clearly present there as well. "Well, Trip can go to medical then and we'll get someone to come up here and help Grant."

"Simmons can just come up and help us both," assured Trip as he moved around May to sit down on the other side of Grant. May twitched as he did, shooting Trip a look that said she thought he was crazy. The other specialist ignored her though, offering Grant a weary smirk as he pressed the towel to his bleeding arm. "I don't really like medical anyway. Always smells sterile and weird, like chemicals."

"Trip, you trained as a medic," reminded May, her shoulders tensing when Grant shifted a little to try to take some of the pressure of the towel off his palm.

"Yeah, and then I became a specialist," pointed out Trip with a shrug. "I like the job, just not the ambiance."

"E-excuse me," spoke up Fitz from somewhere near the door into the room. It prompted nearly every head in the space to turn to the engineer, to Grant's great relief. He wasn't exactly enjoying this high level of attention. "Should I, um, get Simmons?"

Mack nodded, leaning on the counter beside Grant and stretching out his legs a little. "It'd be helpful if you could, Turbo. She likes you better than me, she'll probably come up immediately if you ask her to."

Fitz nodded jerkily before half spinning out of the room in a manner that looked more like fleeing than a calm retrieval of a doctor. As soon as the scientist was gone, Mack and Trip visibly relaxed, though May remained on high alert. Still, no one actually said another word until they heard the elevator doors swish open and closed in the room over. As soon as that happened, Mack straightened and headed for the back counter.

"So, who wants coffee?" questioned Mack, pulling open a cabinet and fishing a bag off the shelf. "This might be our one chance to actually drink something that doesn't go down like sludge."

"Are you serious?" asked May, her voice rising a bit with her irritation. Her fists tightened where they were crossed over her arms, her whole body tense as she stared at Mack. "We have two men bleeding in the middle of the kitchen and you're going to make coffee."

"What? They aren't gonna bleed out," dismissed Mack mildly and he threw out a filter literally overflowing with grounds and popped a new one into the machine. "Not immediately at least. Right Trip?"

"I probably do need stitches just to keep the gash closed and so does Grant," agreed Trip with a shrug, like the whole thing wasn't a big deal, "but we aren't gonna die right this second. Pretty sure it'll probably be clotted up by the time Simmons gets up here." Meeting May's eyes, Trip offered her a soft smile. "Relax, I'm okay, he's okay, we're all okay. We just need a few bandages and something to hold the skin closed."

"You're bleeding in the kitchen because of him," pointed out May, her voice and body further tightening in displeasure.

"And you threw me across the gym last week because I tapped you on the shoulder while you were training," reminded Trip pointedly. His eyes spoke volumes: 'you've done it, too; you should understand this'. It shocked Grant- no one stood up for him like that. Ever.

The click of a cup being set beside him startled Grant from his thoughts, causing him to jump a little. He didn't lash out this time though, his body simply tensing in lieu of actually striking.

Mack shot him an apologetic look, turning the cup around so he would be able to grip the handle. "Sorry man, didn't mean to startle you."

"It's alright," muttered Grant, shifting a little uneasily as he reached out and carefully picked up the cup with his less damaged hand to take a sip.

"Did you at least give him a glass he can't break?" asked May, the irritation in her voice apparent. "We don't need him causing more damage if he zones out again."

"He's a grown ass man, May," stated Mack with just a touch of irritation. Leaning on the counter, he leveled a look at May that would probably scare most people. "Pretty sure he can handle a coffee cup. Besides, Steve can break any of them, so I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that Grant isn't much different."

Grant didn't respond to that- he didn't want to confirm what Mack had said was true. Which, well, it was. He'd broken plastic cups when mad, he'd dented metal ones once or twice when he was still a teenager, and there was an incident with a glass beer bottle he didn't talk about. It didn't happen if he wasn't made though, and the little TV he'd watched as a kid combined with his father taught him angry men broke things. It hadn't seemed weird that he could do the same when mad. He'd even learned to touch only the upper edge of a glass when angry or hold it with only his fingers in order to decrease the chance it would happen. The whole super-soldier thing kind of made him question that though. He'd never accidentally broken a glass, but was that just because he'd been born with the serum? Would he have been more likely to if he'd gotten that power when older? It was something he should talk to Steve about.

"Yo, Grant, you still with us?" Mack's easy voice broke through Grant's thoughts, drawing his focus back, once more, to the kitchen. The other man was staring at him expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer of some kind. When Grant didn't offer one though, Mack tapped the counter a little. "Verbal responses, man. Kinda need them right now."

"Right," muttered Grant, firmly shaking his head in an attempt to pull himself back into the conversation. Had someone asked him something? Given the expectant looks everyone was shooting him, he suspected the answer was yes. "What was the question?"

"I asked what you and Fitz were talking about," explained Trip, shrugging a little. "Just curious what set you off like that."

Grant's shoulders stiffened at the thought, though he was careful to call on his training quickly this time. Trip was taking the whole 'being stabbed' thing pretty well, but Simmons wouldn't. Plus, he might actually hurt Simmons if he stabbed her. Forcing his shoulders to relax, he tried to do the same to his voice. It didn't really work. "We were discussing the pod."

"Turbo was actually discussing the pod?" asked Mack in surprise, exchanging a look with Trip that said that wasn't normal.

Grant nodded, gulping a little as the nausea and anger began to eat at him again. He needed to stay with them mentally, though; he might hurt someone if he didn't. "Sort of. No one told me it sank. I thought they were shaken up, but okay."

Trip and Mack both winced slightly while May's eyebrow twitched in a way that said she was mad. None of them could blame him, of course. No one had told him what happened and he wasn't a mind reader. Simmons had seemed fine; it was just Fitz that struck him as off. Now, he knew why.

"Turbo got hurt worse than Simmons," confirmed Mack, his lips thinning as he levelled a look at Grant. "I gotta ask though, why did you do that?"

Grant felt irritation rise in his chest, not anger but growing in that direction. It was very hard to remember none of them were there and neither Fitz nor Simmons had understood why he did drop the pod. Apparently, they hadn't seen Deathlok coming. "Because it was either drop the pod, shoot them myself, or let Deathlok do it for me. Two options resulted in immediate death and one they could survive. The pod was supposed to _float_."

"Why didn't you turn and shoot Deathlok?" asked Mack, invoking a disturbed and startled noise from Trip. "Wouldn't that have worked?"

"The man is half-cyborg," reminded Ward quietly, tapping his fingers slightly against his coffee. "If I had shot him, I would have had to shoot to kill and that was assuming I could hit something that would take him down. If I'd missed, he would have just killed me and then them. Dropping the pod took the responsibility out of both of our hands and gave them a chance to survive."

"Took the responsibility out of both of our hands," repeated Mack, nodding a little. "You didn't want him to have to shoot them."

Grant had the decency to look away, ashamed. "I didn't know all of Garrett's plan, but I knew he was holding people hostage to use against other people. It was a tactic he taught me. I- I thought maybe I was the same thing, that maybe that was why he'd left me in the woods. Try to force my pare- uh, the Wards, to do something." Looking down, he carefully spun his cup slightly, trying to distract himself from how much he'd betrayed the team. "When Garrett was on the plane following Skye's shooting, he told me they had Deathlok." Glancing at them, he felt the need to add: "And I didn't know he was going to have her shot, for the record. He didn't tell me that part. I was pissed with him for that."

"Think that's why he did the whole heart-stop thing on you?" asked Trip curiously, removing the towel to check his wound. "'Cause you got mad at him?"

"He did that because we needed Skye to talk," explained Grant, wincing at the memory. "Garrett swears he knew she wouldn't let me die, and I don't think she would have, but…"

"It's a shitty thing to do to you," filled in Trip, nodding with a thin-lipped look. "Garrett could be a selfish bastard like that."

"He saved my life," stated Grant quietly, his fingers tightening a little against the cup's rim, though he forced them to loosen before he caused any damage. "I owed him everything. If he needed to stop my heart temporarily to save his own life, then that's fine. He told me that Skye needed to talk and he was sending Deathlok as back-up. It would have just been me and Deathlok on the plane; I could have stopped him if necessary."

"So you would have fought him for Skye, but not Fitz and Simmons," surmised Mack, the look in his eyes darkening somewhat. "That's kinda a douchebag thing to do."

"No," corrected Grant, shaking his head slowly. "It was just Deathlok, myself, and Skye on the plane. I was prepared to try to take down Deathlok if I needed to. With Fitz and Simmons, it was Garrett and a lot of Hydra people, plus Deathlok and we were in the air. We weren't airborne with Skye. There were places to flee, ways out that weren't options with Simmons and Fitz. I just needed to knock him out, not kill him. He wouldn't have been prepared."

"He was ready to kill with Fitz and Simmons though, because Garrett ordered it," stated Trip, his lips twisting into a grimace as he pressed the towel harder against his arm. "Grant's right. Hate to say it, but Garrett was my SO. He was a SOB more often than not, but you didn't realize he was unless you thought about it. Did everything saying it would make you stronger."

"From a tactical standpoint, Wa- he's right anyway," added May, stepping a little closer to him even as she glared at him. "An opponent like Deathlok on the Bus, with no backup or alternative escape plans and a large number of enemies, getting Fitz and Simmons off the plane was the best thing he could do."

"No, the best thing would have been not taking us on the plane to begin with," interrupted Simmons, her voice nearly vibrating with anger as she stepped through the door. Fitz wasn't with her though, nor was anyone else. As soon as she stepped into view, Grant could see the anger glinting in her eyes as well, her reluctance to be there clear. "But I suppose you'll claim coercion with that, as well."

"Simmons," warned Trip, his voice clearly expressing his belief that she was stepping well out of line, "that's not something we're discussing here."

"Why do you keep defending him anyway?" demanded Simmons as she crossed the room to Trip and dropped a medical bag on the counter. "You've been doing that since we retrieved him."

"Because Garrett was my SO, too," reminded Trip, his calm tone edged with tension. "The man was a bastard sometimes- you can't argue with that one either, Grant." Trip was quick to cut him off from objecting to his characterization of Garrett, leveling a finger at Grant. "Even you have to admit he was a bastard sometimes. Stopping your heart to drag information out of Skye is a pretty douchebag move."

Okay, Grant couldn't really argue with that. That had been pretty bad and even he hadn't been able to fully accept Garrett's shit excuse. Nodding slowly, he had to concede that point to Trip. "Sometimes."

Nodding, apparently satisfied by the answer, Trip let his focus fall on Simmons as she pushed his hand from his arm and began to examine his wound. Her fingers danced over the skin skillfully, gentle in a way Grant would almost guarantee she wouldn't be with him.

"I can't believe you stabbed him," muttered Simmons as she released Trip's arm to fish some cotton and a bottle from her bag. Her words reignited Grant's earlier guilt on the matter. He didn't even remember stabbing Trip; it hadn't been intentional. "The man defends you from everyone, and you stab him. I suppose that's your behavioral pattern though- betray those who try to help yo-"

"Enough Simmons," snapped Trip, to Grant's great relief. "It was an accident. Now I'm pretty sure I need stitches to hold my arm shut and I know Grant needs 'em. So stitch me up so one of us can stitch him up."

"He scared Fitz," muttered Simmons, glaring at Grant as she dumped what looked like antiseptic on the cotton and pulled it across Trip's wound. The man hissed slightly, but otherwise showed no signs of discomfort.

"He scared us all, mostly 'cause he was flashing back and we didn't know how to bring him back," countered Trip, offering Grant a sympathetic look. "Lots of us do it and the risk we could hurt someone while we're like that is high."

"He attacked you for no good-" started Simmons, clearly ready to tear into Grant again. Except this time, it was May that cut her off.

"Enough Simmons," ordered May, nodding at Trip. "Stitch Trip up so he can help Grant, or you can."

"You're going to start defending him now, too?" asked Simmons, a bit appalled as she again reached for her bag and extracted a needle and thread. "The man tried to kill us."

"The man tried to save you," corrected Trip, meeting Grant's eyes over Simmons' head. "Personally, I believe him. If he wanted you two dead, you'd have been dead."

Simmons opened her mouth, clearly ready to argue again, but a look from Trip cut her off. With a glare at Grant, she began the diligent work of stitching Trip up, though apparently it wasn't particularly comfortable. The silence that followed immediately was beyond uncomfortable, too. It made Grant want to go hide in a hole. Maybe that would be the best course of action- he could stitch himself up. Picking out the fragments from the cup would be a pain, but he could do it. He just needed the suture.

"Trip, can you hand me a suture?" asked Grant, carefully lifting the towel away to look at the gash on his hand. As he'd predicted, it was barely leaking blood at this point. The only thing a suture would do was ensure it remained shut while it healed. He could do without one too, but he'd probably break the gash open again if he did that.

"Dude, you can't sew up your own hand," stated Trip, shaking his head a little. "Just wait for Simmons to finish and I'll do it for you."

"I'd rather just do it," stated Grant as he stood and maneuvered to the sink to wash the dried blood from his hands in an attempt to evaluate the damage he'd managed to do to himself. "Actually, I need tweezers. I'll just go back to the room Skye took me to and get some."

"You will do no such thing," stated Simmons with a huff. The anger was still present in her tone, but it was fading more towards irritation than actual anger at this point. "I'm almost done with Trip, then I will deal with you."

"I can fish porcelain out of my skin myself," assured Grant, noting that the shallower injuries were already beginning to heal. They'd be little more than red marks by tomorrow. Unless he was shot or severely injured, that tended to be how it went. Little injuries just didn't stick. Unfortunately, he could see the fragments of the cup he'd inadvertently driven into his skin and if he didn't get them out fast enough the wounds might close over them. He didn't regenerate in front of people's eyes or anything like that, but he would have to break the clots and possibly skin to remove the fragments if he didn't do it now. Simmons wasn't likely to do a good job either just out of spite, and he didn't want to ask Trip for help after he'd stabbed the man. He could do this himself, he just needed the tools. "I took care of myself for years, I can do it now."

"I will handle it," repeated Simmons through clenched teeth. "Trip will insist on helping you if I don't, and I don't need him pulling his stitches out if you move or jerk."

"I'm not going to bleed to death if I pop one of these stitches," remarked Trip, his tone dry and just a touch edged by irritation. Simmons let out a disbelieving noise in response, but didn't actually say anything.

Grant wanted to argue, he really did, but it wouldn't actually do any good. He'd be better off just to walk out and handle this himself; it would save Simmons the task of having to help him, which she clearly didn't want to do, and would keep Trip from potentially being injured again trying to help him. Besides, he was pretty sure he could just ask Jarvis for directions back to his room, so it wasn't like he was going to get lost and bleed to death somewhere in the building. He probably didn't honestly need stitches anyway; the doctors had been injecting him with something while he was in their care that had boosted the whole 'rapid healing' thing beyond what it had already been. It was a big part of why he wanted to get the porcelain out now, rather than waiting.

Carefully wiping his hands on the towel from before, Grant tried to step around the counter and head for the door. Mack's extended arm stopped him though, blocking his way out. The larger man didn't try to intimidate him, he just leveled a knowing look at Grant and shook his head.

"Let Simmons help you," stated Mack, nodding back at the stool Grant had been perched on before. "You've been doing this on your own for a long time and I'm sure you were fine, but this isn't about you not being able to take care of yourself. This is about letting other people help you."

Letting other people help him? What was Mack getting at? He'd let plenty of people help him throughout his life. That was a big part of the reason he was even _stuck_ in his current situation. He'd only stopped letting people help him when he joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because it became his job to help everyone else. "What?"

"You've gone through some rough stuff the past few months," explained Mack, his lips thinning. "And I can't imagine yesterday was anything less than earth-shattering for you. I know your type- you always go at it alone. May does the same thing and so does Bobbi. But you aren't going to get better if you don't let other people help you out when you need it. So let Simmons help you. Don't disappear into the vents or your own little hiding spot to lick your wounds. It won't help."

Again, Grant wanted to argue. Simmons was pissed with him, why should he let her help him? She didn't want to help him and asking her to would be placing a burden on her. Besides, he'd been taking care of himself for decades and that hadn't changed. He did better on his own than with others; where did Mack get off trying to argue that with him?

"I'm not talking physical here," stated Mack, apparently somehow reading Grant's mind. It made him extremely uneasy. "I'm talking about the mental damage; that, you need to talk out. I don't know to who you're comfortable talking with, but you need to talk this out with someone."

"What does that have to do with bandaging my hand?" asked Grant, his head beginning to throb as he tried to follow Mack's explanation. What did his hand have to do with talking things out with someone?

"The hand is about helping Simmons, not you," corrected Mack, stepping aside in such a way that Grant had to either move the man out of the way or retake his seat on the stool. Somehow, he suspected moving the man wouldn't work out well for him. If he had to guess, May probably had some kind of tranquilizer on her. Then again, a properly placed hit and he'd go down without any drugs in his system. "You hurt her and Fitz. She's pissed, you're pissed, all three of you are mad about the same thing for different reasons. Her fixing up your hand will start to repair that. You broke their trust, so you have to be the one to start rebuilding it by trusting her and Fitz first."

"Are you quite done?" broke in Simmons, her irritation clear. Grant glanced over just as she gave them both an annoyed once over, her foot nearly tapping. It was the Simmons he knew from before, albeit a lot angrier at him. "I have other things to do today."

"Yeah, we're good," agreed Mack, motioning for Grant to return to the stool he'd previously occupied.

Grant didn't argue with the larger man, just reluctantly retook his seat. Docility wasn't his thing and he should have been making a break for it rather than preparing to allow Simmons to mess with his hand. Except, he thought he could see Mack's point. He didn't feel the need for Simmons or Fitz to trust him necessarily, but Mack was right about him needing to take the first steps to repair their broken trust. Honestly, he'd just be happy if he could be in a room with them without Simmons or Fitz freaking out at him.

Besides, they probably wouldn't let him leave, and starting a fight right now was worse than just letting Simmons bandage his hand.

He expected her to show some resistance to the idea, but she just grabbed his more damaged hand and pulled away the towel to take a look. Her lips thinned at the sight of the wound, though she looked less concerned than he expected. Probably because she was still pissed with him- he'd find it hard to be concerned about someone he was angry with, too.

Her brows pulled close as she ran her fingers around the gash, the clotting of which was breaking somewhat but otherwise appeared pretty solid. It was a long cut, stretching across his palm, but not as wide as it initially looked. Despite Trip's insistence he need stitches, he really doubted that was actually the case. He just needed a bandage and to make sure he didn't flex his hand wrong in the next few days.

"It isn't as bad as I assumed," stated Simmons, her lips pursing as she released him and pulled the antiseptic and a bandage from her bag. "Can you avoid punching me if I clean it?"

"Yeah," winced Grant, gulping a little. The burn didn't actually bother him that much, but he hated the smell. It had filled the room they'd kept him in.

"Go easy on that stuff, Simmons," advised Trip as he pinned the bandage on his arm shut and stood so he was beside Grant. "Might bring back some bad memories."

"I'm fine," stated Grant automatically, his mind refusing to allow even a hint of weakness to emerge from beneath his hard exterior. "Just fine." And he was. He wasn't strapped down, Simmons wasn't wearing a mask, and they were in a kitchen. A bright kitchen. Not a harshly lit lab with him barely conscious. Simmons wasn't going to cut him open, she was going to just stitch up his hand and that would be that. He'd be fine.

"Grant, stay with us man," called out Trip, his voice kind of tense. When Grant blinked, he found Simmons standing a few feet further from him than before, with Trip's arm holding her back a little. May had moved forward as well, coming up on Trip's other side and taking a more defensive stance. At least they were prepared for him to potentially attack this time. _Wow, that's depressing._ The whole needing to talk thing that Mack mentioned might not be far off the mark.

"I'm here," stated Grant, clearing his throat a little. Blinking, he took note of the somewhat horrified look that had crossed Simmons' face. At least she knew what it looked like if he zoned out on her now- she could be prepared and protect herself that way. "Just, do what you need to."

Nodding meekly, Simmons scurried around Trip and reached for his injured hand once more. Grant allowed her to take it again, focusing on Simmons in hopes it would help alleviate some of the growing anxiety he could feel in his chest. She was far gentler this time though, her motions telegraphed before she made them. It was weird and a little disturbing.

"What are you doing?" asked Grant as he watched her hold the cotton ball intentionally in his line of sight for a moment before slowly lowered it to his skin. The antiseptic stung, but he managed to reduce his wince to little more than a tick in his jaw.

"I'm telegraphing my movements so you don't become startled and attack," stated Simmons, as if that were the most logical thing in the world to do. Which, okay, with him it might be. "This is rather extraordinary the way you have already begun to heal. The larger injury is what I would expect, but the various cuts and scrapes are already red where new skin is beginning to grow."

"They'll be gone tomorrow," stated Grant, trying not to think about _why_ that was. The fact that he healed faster than most was something he'd always taken for granted. Now, he kind of wished that wasn't the case. It wasn't some stroke of luck- it was the result of someone who decided they wanted to screw with his genetics. It was a reminder he wasn't a normal person, but a science experiment.

"Fascinating," murmured Simmons, tilting his hand to glance over the wound. "How did I not notice this before?"

"Major injuries only heal a few days to a week faster than most people," explained Grant, his eyes slipping away from her. It wasn't something he really wanted to talk about, but he knew Simmons wouldn't let up if he didn't give some kind of an explanation, either. She didn't know they'd been injecting him with something in the prison that made the rapid healing thing more pronounced. "It's not really noticeable. You only saw me when my injuries were bad."

"True," admitted Simmons unhappily, dropping his more injured hand to pick up the less injured one. "There's no sherds in that one, and we need to get those out first, before the skin heals over them."

"I don't heal that fast," muttered Grant, even though he knew that wasn't completely correct. The clots over any buried material were going to have to be broken, but he didn't think (he hoped) the skin hadn't started to grow around them yet.

Simmons made a noise that conveyed disbelief and again wiped his hand with the antiseptic before beginning her examination. She was quiet for a moment; only breathy little comments he couldn't understand escaping her. Finally, she raised her head and offered him a wide-eyed, excited look. It made him incredibly nervous.

"I read the files on Captain Rogers and the side effects of the serum, but to see it in person is amazing," remarked Simmons as she reached for her bag blindly. She nearly dumped the whole thing over as she did, only Trip's hand stopping the bag from over-turning.

"What do you need, girl?" asked Trip, stabilizing the bag and turning to peer inside.

"Um, tweezers," stated Simmons, blinking as she looked up at him. "And a scalpel. I think a few of these have new skin that I will need to cut away."

Grant felt his chest tighten. Antiseptic he could handle, but Simmons cutting into his skin? That wasn't something he was sure he could do. The vague memories from those lab monkeys slicing his skin for their experiments was enough to cause bile to rise in his throat.

"No scalpel," stated Grant before he could think better of it. It wasn't his call to make; he was doing this because Mack insisted he do it. It was to give Simmons to some sense that he trusted her. Asking her not to cut into his skin wasn't a sign of trust; it was the complete opposite.

Simmons furrowed her brow as she looked at him for a moment before apparently seeing something that immediately had her handing the tool back to Trip. Her voice was dead when she spoke again, distant and maybe a bit angry. "Right, no scalpel."

Grant winced. He'd fucked that one up and he knew anything he said now would sound hollow and untrue. He knew he didn't trust her with a scalpel on his skin, but he wasn't sure he'd trust anyone with that. Not even Skye or Steve, and they were the two he trusted the most at this point.

"They really did a number on you, didn't they?" asked Simmons quietly as she took his hand and began to carefully pluck porcelain sherds from his skin. Blood began to well up again, spilling into the cup of his hand; he was quick to look away this time, tilting his head back towards the ceiling instead.

He wasn't sure what she was talking about- the prison, the scientists who experimented on him, Garrett, or all of the above. Sometimes it felt like everyone had screwed him over. Everyone kind of had when he thought about it. Even the team had been responsible for sending him to that prison, even if they hadn't known it was actually a Hydra base.

"I'm going to take another look at the files Bobbi pilfered," continued Simmons. He caught sight of it as she exchanged the tweezers for antiseptic, looking down again as she wiped the new blood from his skin. "See if I can determine what they were testing for. It would be good to determine which of the super-soldier attributes you've retained from the initial experiment."

"I think we can worry about that later, Simmons," remarked May, her voice tense. A glance at the specialist confirmed she wasn't happy about something; if it was related to what Simmons had said or him though, it was hard to say. "Just get him bandaged up so we can return him to his room and retrieve Skye."

"Right," murmured Simmons, quickly wrapping a bandage across his now cleaned hand before switching to the other again. "Do we need to worry about infection? I don't recall there being any remarked about previous ones in your file."

"Never had one that I can remember," stated Grant with a shrug. His skin was starting to itch with all this medical talk. He needed to get out of there. Maybe go to the gym or find something to read. Check out the files Darcy had given him- wait, the files. Where was the flash drive?

"Grant, what's up?" asked Trip, one of his hands landing on Grant's shoulder lightly. "Stay with us, man."

"I'm fine," assured Grant, his voice growing a touch irritated with all of the precautions they were taking with him. He wasn't zoning out, he just needed to find that drive. Turning as best he could with Simmons holding onto his other hand, he tried to scan the counter for some signs of the device. Shit. He really hoped he hadn't crushed it with that coffee cup. Who knew if that was the only copy of those files or not?

"Looking for this?" asked Mack, holding out the flash drive towards Grant. Almost immediately, he reached out with his bandaged hand and took it, folding his fingers around the device. He wasn't sure why it mattered- he probably didn't really want to read those files anyway- but he was relieved to have the drive safely in his possession all the same. "Saw it laying on the counter when we came in. Thought I'd grab it before you smashed it with something by accident."

"Thanks," muttered Grant, shoving the drive into his pocket for safe keeping. Something about those files felt important to him. Maybe it was the fact Darcy had taken the time to pull them for him or maybe it was because they might give him a better idea of what parts of himself were really him and what wasn't. Either way, he wanted those files safe.

"Was it Skye or Darcy that gave you that drive?" continued Mack curiously, leaning on the counter beside Grant.

"Darcy," replied Grant, his lips thinning a little as the bite of the needle sliding through his skin registered. His shoulders tightened as memories of a similar pain tried to force their way to the surface of his mind, but he shook them away. He needed to focus on what was happening now, not what had happened then. Simmons wasn't going to experiment on him. He needed to remember that.

"She's a weird one, isn't she?" laughed Mack, nodding like it made sense. "Lot like Skye, actually. Shouldn't have been a surprise that they were friends from the same organization."

"Darcy seemed a little more… distracted than Skye," remarked Simmons, her eyes remaining focused on his hand. "I'm certain with them in the same building, something bad is bound to happen."

"I doubt it'll be bad," corrected Trip, shaking his head a little. "Crazy, yeah, but probably not bad."

"They decided to hack into the major alphabet agencies while drunk," argued Simmons, her tone incredulous. "They could have easily made a mistake and been caught."

"Yeah, somehow, I doubt that was the first time they'd hacked a place drunk," countered Trip, shaking his head and laughing a little. "Skye's done some crazy shit. Thought Coulson was gonna blow a fuse when she mentioned her backdoor in the FBI."

"Why does she have that, anyway?" asked Mack, his brow furrowing slightly. "Does she really hack into the FBI that much?"

"She did before," broke in Grant, recalling vaguely a conversation they'd had about her pact illegal activities. Well, it was more like Skye was trying to defend stealing government secrets. She'd given a lot of examples of cover-ups she'd found, many of which had been found through the FBI. "She told me as much."

"Well, if you knew she had a back door into the FBI, you might not wanna let Coulson know you knew," advised Trip, pulling a pair of scissors from the medical bag and offering them to Simmons. Grant tensed until Simmons snipped the loose thread at the end of the stitches with them and quickly handed them back to Trip. He was able to relax again once they were out of sight.

"I didn't know she had a back door," stated Grant, which he really hadn't. "I just knew she had a way in. Didn't ask, didn't want to know how."

"Smart man," applauded Mack as he walked back around the counter while Simmons sealed the bandage on Grant's other hand. "He good now, Simmons?"

"Yes, he is," confirmed Simmons as she tucked the few remaining materials of hers back into her bag. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to make us pancakes if you're finished," stated Mack, pulling open the pantry and dragging a bunch of ingredients out onto the counter. "Simmons, you mind grabbing Turbo? Pretty sure he'll want some."

"Not at all," replied Simmons, eying Grant sadly once more before exiting the room. He wasn't sure what the sad look was about, but he doubted it was good.

"Grant, you want to stick around?" asked Mack curiously, giving the man a once-over. "You gotta be hungry. Not sure you've eaten since you got here."

Grant had to admit he was hungry and his stomach reminded him of this fact rather sharply as it rumbled a little at the thought of food. He wasn't up for the conversation or company, though. He already felt exhausted from the confrontations with Fitz and Simmons, and having May glare at him as he ate didn't sound fun. Maybe he could just grab something quick and go back to his room. That sounded like a good plan. Maybe there was something he could make fast or just eat raw. Probably was.

"I think I'm just going to grab something fast and go back to the room," stated Grant quietly. Standing carefully, Grant moved around the counter and opened the fridge in hopes he'd find leftovers or something. He nearly balked a little when he saw a container inside with his name on it; that wasn't something he'd expected at all.

Pulling it out, he popped the lid a little to find what looked like almost a full pot roast inside, complete with potatoes and vegetables. The hell? Was someone trying to poison him with food? Was that why his name was on the container?

"Oh yeah, Steve made that for you," stated Mack as he began pouring and mixing ingredients. "Said something about fast metabolisms and a need for high-protein foods. It was for when you got hungry. Forgot he did that."

"Why did he make me food?" asked Grant, still completely confused by the idea someone had thought of him enough to make or set food aside for him.

"He probably knew you'd get hungry and need something more substantial than pancakes to eat," replied Trip, shrugging a little. "Microwave is on the end of the counter if you want to use it. Smelled good when he was making it."

Nodding faintly, Grant found the microwave and threw the food into it, careful to set the timer for what he thought would be correct. As the food began to spin, he allowed his mind to drift a little; mostly, it focused on what Steve had done for him. It sounded silly, but something as simple as someone making food for him was precious in its own way. Yeah, his mother or whatever she was had made meals for the family, but it was one of those 'you show up or you starve' situations. No one had ever mad anything specifically for _him_ before that he could remember.

The ding of the microwave drew him out of his thoughts; the others were still quiet, though a glance back revealed May and Trip sitting closer to each other than he would have expected. The younger man wasn't touching the specialist or anything, but it was still weird to see May allowing someone to breach her personal space like that. Even he hadn't been allowed to do that when they were sleeping together. Now, after everything that had happened, he wished Garrett had allowed him to sleep with Skye rather than May. Tactically speaking, May was a better choice, but Skye was the woman he'd actually wanted.

Tugging his food out of the microwave, he turned towards the door, only pausing to take the fork that Mack offered him before exiting the room. He should say thank you or something, but words felt too difficult in that moment. He needed the silence; needed the sanctuary that isolation offered him in order to recover from, well, everything. His brain needed to reset, and that would only happen if he was alone. Or at least, in silence.

Jarvis didn't ask where he wanted to go as he stepped into the elevator, nor did the AI offer any verbal aid as he stepped into the hall. Instead, lights illuminated the hallway and Grant quickly found his way back to the room from earlier. Skye was still asleep inside when he stepped in, and he was careful to avoid waking her as he sat down at the lone computer in the room and plugged the drive into the device. Immediately, the drive opened, laying out every document on the drive as if it were some neat, simple matter. He knew the truth, though; nothing about the documents or the story they told was simple. It was his great-uncle's story, or whatever it was Steve counted as. The story was as much Steve's as his at this point though, and he wanted to understand what it was that he, well, was. He wouldn't have every power Steve did, but figuring out which ones he did have would at least help him figure out how screwed he actually was. How human he actually was.

Popping open the container of food, Grant clicked on the first file in the drive and began to read. At least he was prepared for the chaos the story would bring. Or he thought he was.

That, as it turned out, was a major mistake.

* * *

 _-31 years ago, Coron Island, Philippians-_

"Dr. Earnic," greeted Sims as Arthur stepped through the door of the shack-like structure that was serving as their temporary lab and central headquarters. with the female engineer. Said engineer nodded at the older man, embracing him as they met on the tarmac. "It's good to see you freed from those Soviet degenerates."

"The Soviets are fools and their projects are a reflection of that ignorance," stated Earnic, stepped back a bit and releasing Sims. Her hands slipped into her pockets almost immediately as she glanced around their temporary space in disinterest. "So what madness have you embarked upon now?"

"It isn't madness," spoke up Arthur, immediately coming to Sims' defense. Even if he personally thought the idea was a bit of a stretch, he wasn't going to tell his mentor he thought so and he certainly wasn't going to let someone else say it.

Sims glanced at him in displeasure, a look that said he shouldn't have spoken clearly written on his mentor's face. "My madness is a sanctuary for science. A place where we can pursue our research without baseless morals restricting us. Where we can advance the scientific community in ways we never would if we were to work within the confines of the government."

"Well that sounds cheery," stated Earnic, clearly skeptical. Her eyes glanced around the room again, disinterest preset on her features. "And I see you are off to a spectacular start."

"It's a temporary structure," dismissed Sims casually, flicking his wrist casually in a way that indicated it was a meaningless setback, "but it is what has led to me calling you here."

A look of understanding crossed Earnic's face as she nodded slowly. "You want me to build robots to help you construct this place."

"Not just robots for construction," corrected Sims, his eyes lighting up. "I want your work to be the heart of our facility. I want you to build whatever you wish to make our new world functional and fulfilling. I do have a list of necessities, but anything you wish to add beyond that is up to you."

Wait, he was giving her the right to basically design the facility? That wasn't right. Arthur had the blueprints for the facility safely locked away at his workstation. What was Sims going on about?

"Anything," repeated Earnic in disbelief. Her hands left her pockets so her arms could cross her chest in clear disbelief. "You always have a plan and a design, Sims. What's your catch?"

"No catch," assured Sims, gesturing towards Arthur. "Dr. Arthur Ward is responsible for over-seeing the facility's construction. He has a copy of some blueprints I've previously designed. You will be working with him to enhance and reconfigure everything as you both feel is necessary for cohesive functionality."

For the first time since they entered the building, Earnic turned her full attention onto him. Of course, he'd seen her stand when they climbed onto the plane that brought them out to the island. He'd barely avoided staring as she stripped away her apparently borrowed parka and taken a seat beside him in the aircraft. He hadn't been the sole point of focus for her until that moment though; not in the intense way she was looking at him right then. It was unnerving and hot, two things that shouldn't belong in the same sentence where he was concerned.

"So, we will work together to build this research facility," stated Earnic, weighing her words as she spoke them. Her eyes glinted mischievously, lips tilting upwards slightly as she stared at him for a moment before turning back to Sims. "Alright, I agree."

Arthur felt like he should have some say in this, but somehow suspected any objections he had would be cast aside without review. Great. Well, at least he was doing something helpful; it would eat into his research time, but he could make that up. There might even be a way to foist most of the supervisory work related to the construction into Earnic's hands to boot. Then he could make up for lost time on his personal research.

"Perfect!" exclaimed Sims with a nod, motioning for the two of them to head towards the corner of the shack where Arthur's workspace was located. "Arthur, show Dr. Earnic what we have so far in terms of a working design."

"Yes, sir," muttered Arthur, glancing between Sims and Earnic for a moment. Sims, however, just turned and walked away, leaving him and Earnic alone. Great. Well, might as well get started then. The sooner he discussed the design with her, the sooner he could break into his own research again. Gesturing towards the back of the room, he motioned for her to follow as he headed towards his workstation. "Well, Dr. Earnic-"

"Lucy," spoke up Earnic, cutting him off rather effectively. It was enough to cause him to pause mid-step and shoot her a curious look. She just shrugged as she passed him, offering him a smile. "My name is Lucy. Might as well use it, better than you calling me 'Earnic' all of the time."

"Right," sighed Arthur, doing his best not to feel too giddy at learning her first name. Seriously, what was it about this woman that made him want to stare at her? He'd need to figure it out if he was going to work with her effectively. That was for another time, though. Quickly falling into step with her, he continued from his original line of thought. "Well then, Lucy, the blueprints we have so far are in my desk. However, I suspect they're too small for what Sims wants. We'll need to expand them."

"Might be easier if we figure out what equipment there is first," pointed out Lucy, gesturing a little around the space they had so far. "Unless you plan on continuing to build structures such as these, there are ways to install equipment to save space. We can discuss the matter once I see the blueprints and the list of what Sims is demanding be present in the facility."

Well, he had to admit, at least she seemed efficient. He could get behind that. "The list is in my desk along with the designs."

"Well then let's get to it," stated Lucy, offering him a borderline sultry look and smirk. "I'll need a few hours once we talk to really get into the designs and I'm certain you'd like a bit of quality time with your cells and such. Might as well get through the tedium so we can both have what we want."

Arthur wasn't really sure right then what he wanted, but he was certain of one thing: some time away from Lucy would do him a lot of good. Particularly if she was going to look at him like that.

Reaching into his desk, he extracted the tube with the blueprints and the list of necessary rooms and features, both of which he offered to Lucy. "Blueprints or necessities first? Dealers choice."

The smirk she gave him promised that the next few hours, regardless of the content of their conversation, were probably going to be very interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

_-Present Day, Stark Tower-_

"Grant?" Skye's sleepy voice broke into the fog that had settled in Grant's head. He blinked for what felt like the first time in hours, his mind snapping to focus on the world around him again. It couldn't have been hours, but it felt that way.

"Yeah?" asked Grant, his voice cracking a bit. Maybe it had been hours since he moved. He hadn't meant to get so lost in the files Darcy had given him, but the information had been too distracting. Too terrifying.

Warm, soft hands slid along his shoulders suddenly, dragging him further out of his thoughts of secret labs and illegal experiments. Idly, he wondered why he hadn't lashed out at Skye when she touched him for five second before he felt her hands slide forward. Her arms curled around him, hugging him gently. It wasn't aggressive or tight, just a mark of her presence. A simple gesture of kindness and support.

She was silent for a moment, most likely reading over his shoulder. When she did speak a moment later, her voice was softer than before; understanding. "How much crossover is there?"

"Crossover?" repeated Grant, his brow furrowing as he tilted his head to look back at her. Crossover with what?

For a second, she just stared at him before a soft, nostalgic smile tugged at her lips. It that just confused him further. "Skye…."

"Sorry, you just looked so you for a minute there," stated Skye softly, her smile turning a little sad, "it made me think back to before."

It took him a moment to realize what she meant by before. Before he betrayed them, before they knew what a monster he really was. "I'm sorry, Skye." He wasn't sure where the words came from as they rose unbidden from his throat. It was true though, regardless of if he'd meant to say it. He was sorry he'd hurt the team. It hadn't been something he wanted to do, but he'd needed to do it all the same to save Garrett. What he'd wanted took a backseat where Garrett was concerned.

"If it hadn't been for Garrett, would you have betrayed us still?" asked Skye softly, her arms shifting against his shoulders.

Grant shook his head, shifting around to met her eyes. "I didn't want to betray you, Skye. Any of you. But I didn't have a choice, either. It was you guys or Garrett and I owed Garrett a debt too big to just throw away for what I wanted. What I did try to do was help Garrett without hurting any of you."

"So what happened with Fitz and Simmons?" asked Skye softly, her head settling against his forehead. Her eyes were so honest, so soft, it would have been impossible for him to lie even if he'd been inclined.

"I didn't expect Garrett to order me to kill them," murmured Grant softly, shifting so he could face her completely. "I didn't expect Fitz to attack Garrett, much less with something that would screw up the machine keeping Garrett alive."

"Fitz attacked Garrett and almost killed him?" repeated Skye in surprise, her eyes widening for a moment before they settled to a soft, mournful look. "Geez, no wonder you nearly killed them."

Grant blinked at her hard, unable to follow her sudden train of thought. What did she mean by that? It wasn't as if Fitz attacking Garrett warranted him nearly killing the man. Yeah, he'd seen red when Garrett had gone down and in that brief moment he'd felt the berserker rage from before flood his body. But he'd reigned it in and forced himself to function rationally. He'd thought though what he'd done as best he could given the situation and he'd gotten them off the plane. It kept Fitz, Simmons, and Garrett all safe. "What does that mean?"

Sighing softly, Skye shifted around until she was sitting on the edge of the desk. Her hands slid down his arms as she moved, stopping as she took his hands in hers gently. Her fingers stroked over and around the bandage still wrapped around his hands. He could probably take those off. He'd have to check the injuries when she released his hands, see if they were healed or not. "I suggested yesterday that maybe you had Stockholm Syndrome where Garrett was concerned and, well, you attacking Fitz for attacking Garrett kinda reinforces that."

"I don't have Stockholm Syndrome," stated Grant firmly. He wanted any suggestion that he had somehow been psychologically damaged by Garrett thrown out the door immediately. He didn't think Skye was right; he was almost positive she was wrong. And even if she wasn't, well, he couldn't handle it right now.

Nodding, Skye reached out to run a hand through his hair softly. If she believed him or was just willing to drop the subject for some other reason, he wasn't sure. He was grateful when she shifted so she could see the screen of the computer though. "So, what do you think?"

"Think of what?" asked Grant, closing his eyes and allowing her light touch to momentarily sooth him. He couldn't believe she was being this soft with him. It was like some kind of a dream and he momentarily wondered if he'd fallen asleep reading the documents Darcy had given him.

"All of this," replied Skye, releasing his hand to gesture in the direction of the computer. The hand in his hair didn't leave though; it remained against his head softly, rubbing back and forth. "I haven't really had a chance to ask how you feel about anything that's happened."

Leaning forward reluctantly, worried she might move her hand, Grant took a chance and lay his head against her shoulder to maintain contact. She didn't push him away or drop her hand. It simply slid to rest against his neck and stroke the hair there. Her touch was so soft, the opposite of what he should be receiving at her hands. He'd hurt them all and now, knowing what he'd done to Fitz… he didn't deserve this kindness. Why was she being so gentle with him?

"Because no one has ever been gentle with you," replied Skye simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It took him a second to realize he'd apparently asked his question aloud. "I've seen the files, Grant. I read through everything again after we had you safely out of that prison. No one has ever treated you well, and that's not right."

"I hurt you, Skye," reminded Grant faintly, his eyes squeezing shut. He should accept her kindness, but he couldn't. He didn't deserve to be treated this way. He didn't deserve to be embraced like she was embracing him. "I hurt the whole team. I betrayed you all."

"Yeah, you did," confirmed Skye, her voice tensing slightly as her hand stilled against his neck. He felt her fingers twitch a little, but they began stroking his hair again all the same. "You did betray us, but you did it for Garrett, to save the life of someone you felt you owed a debt to." Her fingers slid his head a little closer to her neck, cradling him. "I haven't fully forgiven you, but I'm trying to. This isn't as black and white as I thought it was at the time, I can see that now. And honestly? If I were in your shoes, I know I would have done the same thing. I betrayed the team for someone I cared for, too. I betrayed you guys for Miles, who I thought was doing the right thing. The only reason I changed my tune was Scorch. What happened to him, knowing I'd helped contribute to his death, that guilt ate at me. It still does." Pausing, her other hand slipped to rest against his back. The movement allowed him to hesitantly rest his hands against her legs. He couldn't explain it, but he needed the contact. "And I'm gonna bet you feel that guilt too, where Fitz is concerned."

His fingers tightened against her legs at the mention of Fitz's name, though he was quick to release her when she made a sound of discomfort. Did he feel guilty about Fitz? Yes, he did. He hadn't been trying to kill Fitz or Simmons; he'd been trying to save them. Pulling that lever had been one of the most difficult things he'd done, but it had been the only option when Deathlok appeared. It had been the only way to get them off the plane without forcing them to float for hours in the ocean and potentially remain unfound.

 _Or was it?_

He almost cringed at the little voice that seemed to echo from the depths of his mind. It was a voice that sounded suspiciously like Garrett, and one he was wholly familiar with. He'd heard that mocking little echo before, when he'd been questioning his decision to dump Fitz and Simmons. He'd heard it when he'd kidnapped Skye; it had egged him on, told him he was doing the right thing. Reminded him that he needed to save Garrett, no matter what. That he wouldn't be who he was without the older agent. That he'd still be stuck in jail, behind bars and suffering, if Garrett hadn't saved him from Juvie. It had reminded him constantly that he owed Garrett everything. He'd managed to silence that voice once Garrett died, shoved it into a dark crevice of his mind and locked it away. Whatever he'd done before didn't matter, why didn't matter. Garrett had died regardless; he hadn't been able to save his mentor. Apparently, that voice wasn't going to leave him alone though.

"Grant?" Skye's soft voice called him back, drawing his eyes upwards to meet her worried ones. There was no fear like the others had shown earlier though, just the soft kindness she somehow managed to maintain no matter what. It was the same look she'd given him in the bar in Ireland when she asked about the staff. It was the same look she gave him when they were sitting on the couch in the Providence base, right before he kissed her. It was a look he both loved and loathed. It made him feel cared for, loved; two things he'd really faced before. That was honestly what it was about Skye that got under his skin: her open, caring nature. Growing up with politicians, he was expected to wear a mask. They'd all worn masks. The idea of actually sharing what they felt or supporting each other was ludicrous.

As much as he loved that look though, he hated it almost as much. Hated the idea he might appear weak in any capacity; that she might be able to see through whatever mask he threw up. He'd spent too much time being weak when he was younger, and he couldn't stand to feel that way now. It made his skin crawl.

Pushing back suddenly, Grant practically shot out of his seat, backing away from Skye and spinning so he was facing the bed instead. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest as he paced across the room, stopping in front of a set of curtains strung across a portion of the wall. He thought about opening the curtains, but just stood there staring at them instead as he tried to bring his pounding heart back under control.

"JARVIS, can you open the curtains please?" asked Skye behind him, her voice coming from across the room. Apparently, she hadn't moved.

A second later, the curtains drew open on their own, revealing the sprawling New York skyline below. Grant felt his breath catch a little. He'd seen New York from above before, but he had to admit it was beautiful to see it like this. The high noon sun caught the windows of the buildings spread out before him, bringing a glint to the city filled with life. It was almost enough to make everything in his life fade away, almost enough to make him feel like things might be okay. For a moment, it made him forget everything he was facing.

Then he heard Skye shift behind him, heard her soft steps pad across the room and come to a stop behind him. They drew him back to reality, reminding him of the chaos his life had descended into. He wasn't even sure what they were expecting of him at the moment. He probably ought to figure that out. He knew they'd brought up some decision last night, but that whole meeting was basically one fussy mass to him. Skye said they'd given him some pretty heavy-duty drugs, so he guessed that was a part of it.

"Grant?" Skye's worried voice broke into his thoughts again. It made him bristle. He needed some quiet, some peace. He needed to figure out where he stood in all of this, and Skye's soft tone and nature were making it that much harder. She was a distraction. He needed to get out of there. He needed to be alone and clear his head.

"Skye, can you just stop?!" exclaimed Grant, his temper momentarily snapping as he spun towards her. "Just, stop! I can't think with you looking at me like I'm some damaged animal!"

The look on Skye's face went from worried to annoyed so fast, it actually startled Grant a little. Her shoulders shifted up, her posture taking on an almost aggressive tone as a scowl pulled across her lips. "I'm sorry Robot, how am I supposed to look at you? 'Cause you aren't 100% right now. And don't try to say you are because that is bullshit!"

"I know that!" snapped Grant, one of his hands dragging roughly through his hair. "I know I'm not 100%!" Letting out an angry huff, he turned back to the window, his shoulders tense. "I feel like I'm drowning here, Skye. I don't even know who the hell I am anymore!" He flicked a hand towards the screen across the room, the motion jerky and angry. "I'm some kind of freak science experiment. Some of those side effects? They're personality based. I don't even know if I'm the same person I would be without that serum."

He heard Skye huff out a sigh, heard her half stomp across the room. Then his view of the window vanished, replaced by Skye as she slipped between him and the window. One of her hands rose to his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "Grant, listen to me and listen good." Her brown eyes swirled with a variety of emotions, from worry to determination to anger, all aimed at him. "You are you. Why you are the way you are doesn't matter. You are who you are, and that's not a bad thing."

"I betrayed you," reminded Grant grimly, his lips pressing together in a grimace. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she kept forgetting that.

"Yeah, you did," confirmed Skye, her fingers sliding carefully to the back of his head. "You betrayed us because you were _loyal_ to Garrett. I'm not gonna go into _why_ you were loyal to him, but you were loyal all the same. Loyalty is a good thing." She released his head then, stepping back as she began ticking things off on her fingers. "You jumped out of a plane to rescue Simmons. I don't care why you did it, that was _brave_." Another finger went up. "You kept Fitz safe in Odessa. Again, reasons why you did aside, that shows determination, skill, and a willingness for self-sacrifice for a cause. Can't say I _like_ that last one, but it's there all the same." Her lips thinned a little, like she was debating something in her head before she ticked off another finger. "Your unwillingness to hit me, even when I punched you, proves you don't want to use force if you don't have to." The concerned look deepened momentarily before she raised yet another finger. "Giving up your safety at the military academy to run home and save your brother from Senator Grabby-Hands shows a drive to protect those you care for."

The anger seemed to slip out of him with every finger she raised and every piece of proof she offered. He didn't buy into her idea that he was a good guy, but his willingness to fight her on that was fast disappearing. Silently, he reached out and took the hand with the extended fingers in his own, covering her arguments like that would somehow make them disappear. Truthfully, he just didn't have a good comeback to any of that.

Nodding slowly, Grant dropped his hand towards his side, bringing hers along with it. Leave it to Skye to find something redeeming about him. How he still managed to underestimate Skye, he wasn't sure. He needed to stop doing that though. "Emma called to tell me our brother had beaten Thomas up. That it was bad and she was afraid he'd kill Thomas next time." He paused after that, her precise words from before sinking in. "Did you just call Maynard 'Senator Grabby-Hands?'"

"Blame Darcy," stated Skye simply, shrugging a little even as a bit of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Apparently, he got grabby with her."

Grant just shook his head. He didn't want to know. "That's not really surprising."

"Which says a lot about your brother," remarked Skye as a faint smile bloomed over her lips. Her smile dropped a second later though, replaced with the contemplative look he'd learned could be either really good or really bad, depending on what she was contemplating. "You should talk to Steve about what the serum does. He met the guy who made it, right? And he was the first experiment, he'd know what it does to, well, everything."

"Yeah," agreed Grant quietly, his hand shifting to lace their fingers together. It was an intimate gesture he probably shouldn't have ever shown Skye, but even he could find some comfort in it. Someone had told him once that laced fingers were a two-way street- some target he'd been sent to seduce for information. She'd had this idealized idea that when two people laced their fingers together, it provided equal comfort for both individuals. He'd thought the idea was complete bullshit at the time; he never even liked holding hands if he could avoid it. But right then, he could see some merit to what she'd said. It did feel comforting, and based on the way Skye's shoulders had lowered, he was guessing she felt it, too. "I was thinking about heading to speak with him when you woke up."

Quietly, Skye nodded, giving his hand a final squeeze before releasing it. "Just remember, no matter what he says, you're you and that's what matters."

Nodding, Grant clenched his now free hand firmly, trying to hold onto the warmth from Skye's hand for a little bit longer. It wasn't working though, and he could feel the ghost of her touch fading rapidly now that her hand was no longer grasped in his. He was drawn between taking the chance to escape for a bit that she'd just offered him and grabbing her hand for a little bit longer. It was a difficult choice.

Still, he knew he needed to speak with Steve. Knew he needed a break. Skye meant well, or at least he was pretty sure she did, but when she looked at him with worry in her eyes, he felt uncomfortable. It had made him uncomfortable on the Bus, and it made him uncomfortable now. People didn't worry about him; he was the solution. Period. He wasn't the one people thought of as being anything more than a tool. That's how he was always treated: as a tool. Even his family had just treated him like an accessory. And after everything he'd done? He didn't deserve to be treated like anything else.

"Do you, uh, need to walk me down?" asked Grant, Fitz's comment about him needing an escort around the tower momentarily crossing his mind.

Skye just waved him off though, shaking her head. "The others are the ones worried you might pull something, I'm not. Ask JARVIS where Steve is and he'll take you there. Besides, he's a better watchdog than I could ever be. Not like I could take you down if I needed to."

Grant wasn't about to counteract that statement; she might not be able to take him, but he'd never put her in a position where she needed to. He didn't think he could bring himself to hit her. Just as he couldn't bring himself to intentionally hurt Simmons or Fitz. Coulson, May, Trip? He'd take them on no problem. They were trained. Skye, Fitz, and Simmons weren't. They weren't field personnel. They couldn't defend themselves against a weapon like him. And that's exactly what he was: a weapon. From infancy, he'd been designed to be someone's weapon. It was his purpose in life, but he wouldn't turn that power against anyone weaker than him. He never wanted to do it before and he wouldn't do it now. Not willingly.

"Grant?" asked Skye, prompting his focus to return to her. She was giving him that worried look again. He really wished she would stop looking at him like that. It made his stomach twist. "Try not to hurt yourself more this time."

He blinked, hard. Her silence concerning the state of his hands had been a surprise throughout their conversation, but he hadn't been able to figure out why she wasn't asking questions. That's what she always did, right? Asked questions? So why wasn't she asking about his hands.

As if reading his mind, she offered him a faint smile. "JARVIS woke me earlier when you had your little episode. He thought they might need me down there to bring you back. I waited until your hands were stitched up, then lay back down when JARVIS said you were heading this way. Thought you might need some space on that one, so I just went back to bed."

"That's the complete opposite of what I'd expected from you," murmured Grant, somewhat floored by the idea that Skye would even consider what he'd want when it came to injury. She was always the first person pushing him into medical, usually with Simmons pulling him on the other side.

"Yeah, well, I didn't go back to sleep until I knew you were okay," reminded Skye with a bit of a huff, eyes dropping to his hands. "JARVIS said Simmons stitched you up and I didn't want to make it worse." Pausing, she added: "I saw the footage of what happened."

Grant's lips thinned in response, nodding slowly. He was just glad he didn't need to explain what had happened. Knowing Skye could apparently see footage of his every move was kind of perturbing, but he could handle that. If it meant he didn't have to explain things like how his hands got busted up, he wasn't going to complain either.

"Go see what Steve has to say," encouraged Skye quietly, nodding towards the door to the apartment. "JARVIS can take you to the gym."

"Sounds almost like you're trying to push me out," muttered Grant, trying to joke just a little. A bit like he'd always wanted to joke with her. Like a normal person might joke with her.

Skye's face fell immediately though, her brow furrowing in worry. One of her hands reached for him again, cupping his cheek softly as she met his eyes. "I really hope you know me better than to believe that."

"I betrayed you, Skye," reminded Grant, the words echoing dully in his chest. "I'm not sure how well I can actually say I know you, at this point. I don't know how that changed you or your feelings toward me. The last 24 hours have been the only time I've spent with you in 8 months and 8 months is a long time. People change."

Lips thinning, Skye stroked his cheek gently before dropping her hand back to her side. "Like I said before: I'm still mad at you. But, I know it's a lot more complicated now. I can't say I understand exactly what you were thinking, but I get why you did it." Looking down, she shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans, wrinkled from being slept in. "And I can't say that I'd have done anything different." Her eyes travelled across the room, locking on some point on the wall. "And if I wouldn't have done anything different, I can't hold it against you. At least, not fairly. I betrayed all of you for Miles, a guy I thought I loved. He took me in, helped me through a lot of stuff, kinda like Garrett. Except, well, I was sleeping with Miles."

"That definitely isn't something I did with Garrett," confirmed Grant, his throat tightening at the thought of Skye in bed with Miles. It had bothered him before; the memory of that was part of how he managed to subject his feelings towards Skye for as long as he did. "Never."

"Good to know," replied Skye with a half-smile that was more relief than reassurance. It almost made Grant want to scream. He knew everyone was assuming the worst of Garrett, but that was a step beyond what he could tolerate. His fingers clenched at his side, muscles tensing. It was only with great force of will that he managed to hold his tongue. Skye didn't know Garrett like he did; she didn't know he didn't swing that way, that he would never do something like that to a kid. She didn't know Garrett had treated him like his own son. All she knew was the man who'd betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D.. Grant couldn't blame her for jumping to the worst conclusions.

"My point is: I get why you'd do whatever you needed to in order to save someone who saved you," continued Skye softly, eyes finally returning to meet his. "So, well I haven't forgiven you, I'm trying to keep everything in perspective. Kinda helps you aren't running around threatening people right now."

"I don't intend to threaten anyone here," stated Grant, forcing his anger down. He didn't expect her to ever completely understand why he did what he did, but it felt good to know she at least partially understood why he'd done it.

"Good to know," stated Skye with a faint smirk, motioning towards the door. "Now stop delaying and go see Steve. Maybe he can help you figure this out."

Grant's lips thinned a little at her statement, his hands rising to rub his eyes. "It's going to take more than one conversation to even begin to figure this out."

"Yeah, I know," confirmed Skye, her slim fingers wrapping around his wrists for a moment before she gently pulled his hands down. Her deep brown orbs met his, hopeful and unguarded. "I've been there before, remember? Still there, kinda." Sighing, she squeezed his wrists lightly. "I still don't know who I am or where I came from. And I know how much that hurts. But remember, we know where you were taken from and we have Steve. It's something and we will find the rest, if you want us to." Releasing him, she stepped back a little and gestured to the door. "Now go talk to him, get some answers. I can't tell you if it'll help or not, but at least you'll know something and that's better than nothing."

Nodding, Grant turned away and headed for the door. Behind him, he heard Skye speak up, addressing JARVIS. "Hey JARVIS, can you please take Grant to Steve?"

"Of course, Miss Skye," assured JARVIS, his voice carrying out the door behind Grant as he left.

Almost as soon as he stepped into the hall, the lights overhead dimmed. Along the floor, new lights flashed to life, leading down the hallway like emergency signals. The faint yellow-green glow was almost sickly, casting a light across the floor that made him almost nauseous. It took him a moment to shove his discomfort down and start down the hall. Skye was right: he did need to do this. It wasn't going to be easy or fun, but he needed to do this. And Steve was his best chance to get some answers.

* * *

Anxiety crept up Grant's spine as he stepped into the gym. JARVIS had confirmed the soldier was still training, but he had been unable to tell Grant when the Captain would be done. This wasn't going to be a short conversation either, and Grant didn't really want to force Steve to quit early. But the alternative was going back to the room with Skye and Grant couldn't handle that right then. So, he slipped into the gym as quietly as he could and stood there, in the shadows, waiting for some sign Steve was winding down.

After five minutes though, Steve was still going strong. Restlessness began to crawl up Grant's spine. He'd been trained to work out or study whenever he had the chance. Given everything else that had happened recently, the itch to step into the room and hit something was strong. He hadn't realized how restless he was until he spotted the punching bag hanging behind where Steve was using the salmon ladder. The punching bag had always been his favorite- he could picture his brother's face on the front and just beat on it until his rage subsided.

"Grant?" Steve's voice instantly snapped Grant out of his thoughts. His eyes flew up to meet Steve's where the super-soldier was currently hanging from the bar at the top of the ladder. He looked quizzical and maybe just a bit confused. "You alright?"

Grant cleared his throat a little. Stepping forward as Steve released the bar and dropped to the ground. "Yeah. I just, uh, wanted to talk about the program and its effects."

"Really?" asked Steve, offering him a bit of a smile. "It looked like you wanted to go at that punching bag behind me a second ago."

Glancing back at the punching bag, Grant nodded a little. Yeah, he did want to go at that punching bag. He knew it would help dissipate some of the frustration and helplessness he could feel swirling in his chest.

"I have trouble sitting still now," admitted Steve as he turned and headed for the bag.

Absently, Grant found himself following the soldier, half curious about what Steve had to say and half hoping he'd be allowed to pummel the bag- even just hit it a few times. He hadn't asked if there was a gym or if he was allowed to use it since he woke in medical. He'd assumed he wouldn't be allowed to use it even if there was one. As Steve rounded the bag to hold it though, he realized that was exactly what Steve intended to let him do.

"I wasn't this energetic before the serum," continued Steve as he braced the bag and motioned for Grant to take a swing. "Watch your force with your hurt hands. Being a super-soldier doesn't stop us from making things worse. It just means we heal faster."

Nodding, Grant carefully curled his hands into fists, weary of the stitches in his right palm, and let his body drop easily into his usual attack stance. His muscles relaxed into the stance immediately and the first punch he threw, lighter than normal, felt good. The second blow felt better. He could feel some of the tension in his body easing with each blow- it made him feel stronger, lighter, than he had since he woke up. He was a warrior and this was his element; he wasn't easy to take down. He'd survive whatever was thrown at him. That's what he needed to remember.

Steve didn't say anything as Grant hit the bag over and over. He just stood there, holding the bag and making an occasional noise when Grant hit the bag a little harder than before. The super-soldier didn't complain or remark on his strength; didn't egg him on or encourage him to slow down or speed up. Steve just let him do his thing.

And that's what he needed. As he sank into the familiar rhythm of punches he'd used for years as part of his workout, his mind began to clear. The familiar chant of '1-2' began to echo through his head, dispelling any other thoughts that tried to encroach. It felt good. Cleansing.

When his hands began to ache, Grant slowed his blows, stopping a few minutes later. His chest was heaving and he could feel the tell-tale drip of sweat sliding down his back. The stiff feeling in his fingers as he uncoiled them confirmed he'd been hitting the bag for a bit, all while Steve silently stood there holding it steady for him.

Backing away, he watched as Steve released the bag with a creak of the chains above and offered Grant a smile. "Better?"

"Yeah," confirmed Grant with a heavy breath, carefully clenching and unclenching his fingers. The sting of sweat as it leaked into the palm of his right hand told him the wound was still there, but the size was significantly smaller than it had been earlier. Morbid curiosity took over as he carefully peeled the bandage from his left hand. He'd half hoped whatever Hydra had been injecting him with would wear off. They hadn't done anything to him in the past seven days preceding his rescue and it hadn't sounded like they had him unconscious long enough the night he was rescued to do anything to him. That meant they hadn't been able to continue whatever they were doing or inject him with anything else except the sedative. As nice as the super-healing was, part of him wanted something about his biology to be normal. Or at least back to his normal.

As he stared at his left hand though, scattered red marks denoting new skin where minor cuts had been earlier, he knew it was bull. Or at least that he was still hopped up on the stuff from over a week ago. He almost didn't want to check his other hand, but he knew he needed to get the sweaty bandage off and wash the stitches all the same. He didn't really want to find out the hard way if he could get infections or not.

Peeling off the other bandage, he again found the smaller injuries healed and the large gash was about two-thirds of its original size. It was almost depressing to see how fast the injury healed- it meant the serum really had taken effect. It was a reminder he really was some perverted science experiment and not just some unlucky, kidnapped kid.

A tap to his shoulder drew his eyes back up to Steve. The man gave him a soft smile, the one Grant suspected made everyone trust him, and motioned toward a door leading out of the gym. "Let's get cleaned up, then we can talk."

Nodding, Grant followed Steve silently across the gym to what he assumed was a door to a locker room. Steve went through first without pause, clearly expecting Grant to follow. He only paused for a second, allowing himself a momentary mental breath to steady himself before he followed Steve.

Pushing the door open, Grant silently stepped into…something that looked nothing like a locker room. Or at least not a men's locker room. There were couches for one thing- comfortable looking ones. Tall lockers sat against the wall immediately across from him, ten in total and twice the size of a S.H.I.E.L.D. locker. Sinks and mirrors sat along the wall opposite the lockers, with a long bench running between the lockers and sinks until the wall curved sharply and disappeared around a corner. It was impossible to see passed the curve, but Grant would bet there were showers at minimum. Three doors sat in the back wall at the opposite end of the room from where he'd entered, closely spaced and painted a modern black. The whole room was actually pretty modern looking despite the fact it was a locker room. There was even carpet on the floor. The only other thing in the room was a sealed locker between the doors in the back wall and the start of that sharp curve, likely containing weapons. Then again, knowing Stark's reputation, it probably contained alcohol.

Heading through the room, Steve grabbed two towels off a shelf below the sinks before motioning for Grant to follow. Silently, Grant trailed behind Steve as the man led him around the curve and into the isolated part of the room. The curve itself dead-ended into a second room with a much higher ceiling and visible ventilation shafts. Shower heads lined the walls, running parallel to the opposite end of the room and separated only by low walls between each head. Tile covered the floor, bright red on the floor of the showers with yellow-gold creating a trail between the two rows of showers and dead ending at the opposite wall.

"Stark keeps soap in the stalls," remarked Steve, offering Grant one of the towels awkwardly before kicking off his shoes and heading for the end of the room. "It's strong smelling, but it works."

"Might need something strong anyway," muttered Grant, making a face as he sniffed his shirt. "Can't really remember when I last showered." His lips quirked slightly as a thought crossed his mind. "Not sure how Skye put up with sleeping next to me."

"She's probably still exhausted," stated Steve with a faint smile. "According to her teammates, she barely slept the night before they pulled you out of that prison and from what I've seen, she hasn't slept much since you guys arrived."

"Would explain it," agreed Grant, eying the shower uneasily. It wasn't that he didn't want a shower; he needed one badly. But he wasn't sure about showering in an open space with Steve. Yeah, he'd done it hundreds of times while he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.; the men's locker rooms didn't exactly have a lot going for them in the way of privacy. This felt different though, more personal than it ever had before.

If Steve was equally uncomfortable or he just sensed Grant's discomfort, he wasn't sure, but the super soldier gestured to one of the showers near the front of the room as he headed for the back. "The back is a little confining."

"Thanks," murmured Grant, turning into one of the stalls near the front. He stepped behind the low wall, waiting until Steve had moved down the corridor before he began stripping. Pulling his shirt off wasn't such a big deal. The pants were a little more uncomfortable, but he pulled them off all the same along with his underwear before flipping on the water. He expected an icy stream to hit him, braced himself for it, and almost yelped when warm water hit his skin instead.

"Stark hates cold showers," remarked Steve from the other end of the room, the sound of his own shower echoing off the tiles and distorting his voice. "He made sure we'd always have warm water in here."

"Sounds like Stark," stated Grant with a shake of his head, picking up the soap and running it carefully through his hands. The one good thing about the prison he was in was that he was considered a 'high priority prisoner'. It meant he was basically kept in isolation. That included shower times. Didn't mean he wasn't careful in there though; the guards could be just as bad as the prisoners. Not having to watch his back as he showered was a weird sensation. It didn't help squelch the prickling along his back though or the way his attention hyper-focused on his surroundings. It didn't stop the muscles in his back from tensing up or keep his hands from shaking slightly as he quickly soaped up his body and washed off. He was done in under three minutes, shutting off the shower and grabbing up the towel he'd been offered.

Keeping the towel wrapped firmly around his waist, he stepped back out into the main pathway. A glance towards the back of the shower room confirmed Steve was still showering. Not certain what to do, Grant kept his hand firmly around the towel and stood awkwardly waiting for the other man to finish. As time ticked on though and the sound of water echoing through the room crawled through his ears, memories of the prison showers flashed through his head. The anxiety, the claustrophobia, the fear. It slithered through his body and mind, putting him on high alert. His adrenaline began to spike and the sudden urge to run struck like a snake. Normally he ignored it, but without a mission to focus on or a reason to stay in the room, it was hard to keep that anxiety at bay. It always had been when he didn't have a way to distract himself.

"Hey uh, I'm going to wait outside," remarked Grant as his chest began to tighten uncomfortably. "I'll meet you out there." He was out the door before Steve could say anything, hurrying into the main part of the locker room.

Almost as soon as he stepped back into the locker area, he felt his chest unclench slightly. It would take a few minutes for the anxiety to actually clear, but it was a start. Dropping onto the bench, he felt his anxiety ease a little more. The locker room was a lot less familiar- posher rather than utilitarian- than anything he'd experienced since he was a kid. It was somewhat remanence of the country club the Wards had been members of, but more modern and with a lot less cigar smoke. Definitely more comfortable.

For a few more minutes, the only sound in the room was that of water hitting the tiles in the shower area. Silence descended as the shower head was switched off, followed by the soft pad of footsteps as Steve came out of the shower area. One of his hands held his towel in place as the soldier padded across the room to the locker closest to the showers.

He nodded at Grant as he passed, offering him a smile before he turned towards his locker. Grant let him do whatever it was he was doing, unsure what to really do. He hadn't considered the fact that he had no clothes before he jumped in the shower, but now he was faced with that dilemma. He could put the clothes he had been wearing back on, though they were smelly by this point and weren't actually his. Someone had shown up with the clothes after Simmons had finished relaying the truth to him and he hadn't hesitated to change nor had he asked where the clothes came from. Whoever they belonged to though, they probably wanted the clothing back.

"I'm hoping Clint has something clean in his locker," spoke up Steve, the sound of his locker closing snapping Grant's attention fully back to the locker room. He watched silently as Steve moved down the locker line to the fourth one in and popped it open. An arrow fell out as soon as Steve did, along with a jacket with a big 'H' on the back and several bow strings. The face Steve pulled, some combination of a bad smell and resignation, was almost amusing enough for Grant to laugh. Almost.

Knocking aside the debris with his foot and a sigh, Steve stared into the locker for a moment before he began carefully attempting to sort through the piles of stuff jammed inside. It took a moment for him to find something clean- a pair of jeans- which Grant quickly took and pulled on. He felt better with the jeans at least. A shirt would be nice, but wasn't mandatory for him. Pants were a very different matter.

Steve, meanwhile, continued to root through the locker. Grant watched silently as Steve rustled around for another minute before he pulled something out. Unfurling the balled up cloth revealed it was a shirt; a shirt with a blown up image of Steve across the front famed by the words "I want you to join the army". Grant actually felt himself pale. No, no way was he wearing that shirt. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd rather walk through the tower completely naked. The look Steve shot him said he felt the same way before he tossed it on the bench and pulled out another ball of cloth.

The second was even worse. This one still had Steve on it, but he was leaning back so the muscles in his upper body were more apparent and his shield was placed in a position across his waist. This one read: "Support your men, buy war bonds". The red color Steve turned at that one was almost amusing; if Steve hadn't been searching for a shirt for him, it would have been. Grant was almost afraid of what Steve might pull out next.

"I don't need a shirt," pipped up Grant, hoping to cut off this search before they found something really embarrassing. Why Clint even had these shirts, Grant wasn't sure and didn't really want to know. He would have expected that of Coulson, not the archer. "I've got pants. I'll be okay."

Steve nodded uncomfortably, shoving the shirt back into the locker like it was poisonous. "I, uh, the army made me do that…"

"I figured," assured Grant, shuttering a little. He didn't want to think about how uncomfortable that must have been. He'd had to do similar things for a sting before, but that was a contained situation. He couldn't imagine having photos like those plastered all around the country.

Throwing the stuff that had fallen out of the locker earlier back in, Steve snapped the door quickly shut, face still bright red. The sound of the door snapping shut had barely stopped echoing in the room when Clint stepped inside, clearly stifling a smirk. There was a ball of fabric in one of his hands, which he threw at Grant without a word before heading to his locker. Grant caught it automatically, unfurling the ball to find a plain purple shirt in his hands. It wasn't his color, but Steve wasn't featured on it so he wasn't going to be picky. He pulled it on with a nod of thanks.

"You shouldn't go through other people's stuff, Cap," remarked Clint, nodding back at Grant as he pulled open his locker and took out a few arrows that were scattered inside. He shut it again with a snap, offering Steve a sloppy salute before towards the locker in back. "Also, those shirts are Phil's. If you wanna give them back to him, he'd probably appreciate it."

"I'll leave that to you," remarked Steve dryly, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of touching the shirts again. "You're the one who took them."

Clint shrugged a little, a soft, sad smile crossing his lips. "Yeah, well, if you lost your partner, I'm pretty sure you'd pilfer their clothes, too."

Silence descended on the room momentarily as Clint unlocked the locker at the end of the room and extracted a bow before heading back towards the locker room entrance. It hung there as the archer walked out of the room, the door clicking behind him.

For several minutes after, the silence remained. Guilty on one side and awkward on the other. Grant had no clue what to say or how to break the silence. He wasn't really sure he wanted to, either. Breaking the silence meant talking and that was something he really didn't want to do. He had to do it, but that didn't mean he wanted to or that he would willingly step up to the plate and do it. Well, okay, he would willingly step up. He was in the room with Steve, after all.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Steve motioned towards the door Clint had just exited through with his head. "Let's head to the kitchen. We'll both be starving soon."

Nodding, Grant stood and once more followed Steve from the room. His hands found their way into the pockets of his borrowed jeans, which almost immediately slid on his waist. For a moment, he contemplated if he should risk the fabric slipping off or just keep his hands in his pockets- at least it gave him something to do. After two steps though, the urge to pull the jeans up grew too strong and he was forced to do exactly that.

His fingers twitched by his side as they made their way to the elevator in silence. It was almost stifling, like the calm before the storm. It was doing nothing for Grant's anxiety, that was for sure. His skin practically crawled with it.

The elevator opened just as they reached it, closing behind them and moving upward without prompting from either man. It was actually kind of creepy. The idea something was watching their every move, that they had no privacy, put him completely on edge. In the room with Skye or in the gym, JARVIS' presence was almost undetectable. But things like the elevator going where they needed it to without them saying a word? That was almost too Big Brother for him (the irony of that thought wasn't lost on him).

A ding preluded the elevator's stop on their floor and both men exited the elevator. Steve immediately headed for the kitchen, motioning for Grant to follow him with a motion of his head. Grant did as he was told, trailing through the living room behind Steve. He spotted Natasha spread out on a couch, book in hand, but, despite the fact she glanced towards them, she remained seated with her mouth shut. Grant wasn't sure if he was relieved by that or if he wished she would step in and distract Steve.

"Where is everyone?" asked Grant as he stepped into the kitchen, looking towards Steve. "It seems very…empty around here."

"Tony and Bruce probably kidnapped your scientist friends and ran off to one of their labs, likely with Jane," stated Steve, pulling out a gallon of juice and pouring two glasses before handing one to Grant. He didn't argue, just took the glass and downed its contents. The small sugar boost would be nice. He might not have done a full workout, but he'd still gone after that punching bag for a bit. "Darcy always disappears somewhere during the day when she's not helping Jane, Pepper is probably handling some business for Stark Industries, I'm sure Maria is doing something with the security team, and Clint tends to disappear like Darcy, so he could be anywhere."

"Guess it just felt like there were more people around before," muttered Grant, setting his glass aside and taking a seat on the nearest stool.

"You mean last night?" asked Steve as he pulled out some bread, cheese, meat, and other sandwich materials.

Grant nodded, watching as Steve began meticulously assembling two sandwiches. He moved in a very military manner, assembling both at once and putting ingredients aside as he finished with them. It was organized and neat, nothing like how he had seen the cook make sandwiches when he was a kid. It had been over a decade since he'd been anywhere near the Ward's or their household; thinking about it now just felt strange.

The sound of ceramic on stone drew him back to the kitchen. Immediately, his eyes fell to one of the two sandwiches Steve had made. The other was still in front of Steve.

"Eat up," stated Steve as he went about putting everything he'd removed earlier back into the fridge. He then pulled the container of juice out of the fridge again and refilled both of their glasses.

When Steve finally picked up part of his sandwich, Grant did the same. Even though he'd eaten earlier, he found he was still hungry. Being in the woods had trained him to ignore hunger and now he sometimes didn't notice when he actually was hungry. He probably needed to work on that.

"Did the files Darcy gave you help?" asked Steve suddenly, taking a drink of his juice.

Grant nearly choked on his sandwich. How did Steve even know about that? From the way Darcy had talked about the files, he hadn't thought she told anyone she was going to pass them along. Or at least that no one knew she had them. Then again, she had to have spoken to someone in order to even find the files. Maybe. She was with the Rising Tide after all; she and Skye seemed capable of finding anything.

Nodding, Grant set his sandwich aside and gulped some of his juice. "Yeah." His voice cracked somewhat as he spoke. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "It, uh, helped a little."

"But you still have questions," surmised Steve with a bit of a knowing smile.

"Sort of," replied Grant with an uneasy sigh, pushing his sandwich aside. His appetite was suddenly gone. One of his hands rose to run through his hair once as he tried to think of where to start. It wasn't like there was an obvious starting point with something like this. "I just…don't understand how it affected me. Don't know what parts of me are from the serum and what's actually me."

Steve's lips compressed a little before he sighed, set down his sandwich, and rounded the counter to sit beside him. The man's face was almost unreadable as he stared at Grant for a moment before clapping his shoulder gently. "Every part of you is you. The serum doesn't add to or change who you are. All it does is enhance you physically and mentally. The serum can't enhance what isn't there to begin with."

A shuttering breath wriggled out of Grant's chest. If what Steve was saying was correct, he wouldn't be anyone different if he hadn't been injected with the serum. Which meant he would still be a traitor. He'd still have followed Garrett to Hydra and betrayed the team. He still would have picked on his little brother because of his older one. And the serum would have only made his cowardice and disloyalty worse.

"I'm going to assume that wasn't what you wanted to hear," remarked Steve, his voice a touch concerned. The super-soldier's hand never moved from its spot on his shoulder, heavy with expectation. He was honestly surprised his ancestor could stand to touch him or show him any kindness. "Look Grant, the serum only enhances what's already there. The thing is, from what Skye says, you were probably an infant. There wouldn't have been anything there for the serum to enhance. More likely, Sims was hoping that treating you with the serum young would raise your potential." The man stopped then, indecision written on his face. There was something he wasn't saying.

The hair on his neck prickled, a jolt of fear striking through his chest. He'd faced too many lies lately with serious consequences. Whatever this was, he needed to know. "To what end?" Indecision played with guilt on Steve's face. It had to do with whatever Sims was planning then. The fear settled in his stomach. "Steve. To what end?"

Sighing, Steve released Grant's shoulder and ran a hand through his short hair. "Some of the evidence they found in Sims' abandoned lab indicates he might have been playing with cloning."

"Cloning," repeated Grant, his stomach flipping. Cloning. The guy who had experimented on him had been playing with cloning. Did that mean there were more of him out there? Other versions of him running around like some demented army? Or was he one of those clones rather than the real thing? Could he be a clone?

"There was no evidence any of the equipment had been hooked up or used," added Steve as he braced his elbows on the counter, hands folding in front of him. "We're not even sure there's a connection."

"But the implications are there," stated Grant, the churning in his stomach lessening slightly. At least it sounded like no one had cloned him or even used the equipment. At least that meant he wasn't a clone. That it had possibly been planned was still making him feel sick, but at least it sounded like that plan was never executed.

"The implications are there," confirmed Steve grimly, his fingers tightening momentarily before he unfolded his hands and leaned back again. "I'm sorry, Grant."

Grant balked a little, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did Steve have to be sorry for? He was the one who'd fucked up, not Steve. "For what?"

"I'm sorry this happened to you, everything," stated Steve with a sigh. His pupils dilated as he focused on some point across the room Grant couldn't see. "When I agreed to participate in the super-soldier project, I never thought anyone else would be impacted. I never thought someone might go after my family that was still overseas in some attempt to recreate, well, me. The success."

For a second, Grant didn't say a word. Steve was technically right: if Steve hadn't agreed to the program, then no one would have gone after him. He would have lived his life with his parents, people who may or may not have loved him. Even as the thought crossed his mind though, he rejected it. If Steve hadn't entered the super soldier program, then they might not have taken out Hydra during the War. And even if they had, the casualties list was bound to be three times what it had been with Steve's help.

"You needed to be part of that program," countered Grant, voice neutral. "If you hadn't, a lot more people would have died and the good guys might not have won." He paused a moment, thinking over his words carefully before adding: "If the negative consequences for the success of the super-soldier project all fall on me, then it's a fair price for the good it did."

For a long moment, Steve just stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Then a smirk curled his lip slightly followed by a chuckle and a shake of his head. "I don't know how you ended up with Hydra, but you don't belong with them. Don't let anyone tell you that you do."

Grant wasn't really sure what to say to that. No one had ever told him he belonged with Hydra, not even Garrett. Had someone else said something? He wouldn't be surprised if Hill had. She was still pretty pissed with him.

"So, have you given any thought to your next move?" asked Steve as he reached across the counter and picked his sandwich back up. Grant didn't mind the topic change. "You don't have to know right now, but it might help you sort this out. Or at least give you a place to start."

That sounded like he was speaking from experience, but Grant couldn't imagine what experience it could be. Steve was Captain America, the all-American hero. That had never changed, not since he took on the mantel.

"I'm not sure yet," stated Grant, shrugging a little and picking slightly at his sandwich. His appetite was pretty much gone after that clone discussion, but the disapproving look Steve was giving him said he probably should at least try to eat some more. "Don't suppose you have any advice on where to start."

Steve was quiet for a moment, his expression contemplative before he set aside his sandwich once more. "What part of this has upset you the most?"

What the hell kind of a question what that? This whole fucking thing had been upsetting. The lies, knowing Garrett probably knew he was a stolen science experiment, the fact he'd been taken from his family and left with the Wards, it was all equally upsetting. He didn't know who he was anymore. Before he'd had a purpose: save Garrett. He'd had a past as the Ward family black sheep, their screw-up son. It hadn't been a good past, but it was a _past_. Except now he knew he wasn't a Ward. Yeah, he was still their family screw-up, but he wasn't their son. Their ambitions, family pride, none of that was a part of him. He didn't have to wonder anymore why politics and public appearances bothered him so much. They weren't in his blood. He wasn't one of them; he never had been. It wasn't that he was really the family screw-up, he'd never been their child. They weren't his real family. None of his siblings were really his siblings, at least not by blood. Yeah, he'd been raised with them, but it hadn't been their choice. He'd been a burden they were stuck with, not a son they loved. And when he thought about it, that probably upset him the most. He didn't have daddy issues, he had family issues.

The knowledge he wasn't a Ward freed him from some of that, though. If he wasn't a Ward, that meant he hadn't failed his family, because they weren't his family in the end. It also meant he didn't know who his family was though. He didn't know if they gave him over willingly, if they even cared about him. He was operating under the assumption he'd been stolen, but what if they gave him up willingly? What if they sold him to Hydra? It wouldn't be the first time he'd seen it happen. And in a Soviet state? If their situation was bad to begin with, it was more likely.

"Grant?" asked Steve suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. Blinking, he turned his focus on the soldier. Steve had finished his sandwich at some point and cleaned up his space. Grant's sandwich was still there, but his juice had been refilled. Had he been thinking for that long? "Let's try this: what's your biggest question?"

It was a better question than the first one had been, that was for sure. At least he had an answer for this one. "If the Ward's aren't my parents, then who are my parents? Did they give me up willingly or was I taken from them?"

Nodding slowly, Steve tapped his finger on the counter twice before he stood and motioned for Grant to do the same. "Darcy and Skye might have part of that answer or at least know where we can find it by now. They've been trying to track down your birth certificate using the information from Hydra."

They were? Why would they do that? Grant hadn't asked Skye to help him figure this out; he hadn't even known he'd want to until Steve started asking questions. So why was she looking for his parents? It didn't make sense.

"Skye said you'd want to know eventually, even if you didn't realize it now," added Steve, clapping Grant on the shoulder gently. "Apparently she's been there before, herself."

"She thought her parents abandoned her at an orphanage when she was an infant for most of her life," supplied Grant as he stood on slightly shaky legs. A touch of a smile tugged at his lips as he considered her kindness. It was Skye: always one step ahead of everyone else. When it came to emotional issues, he had to admit that she knew what she was doing. "She knows what it's like to not know where you came from."

"Where you come from isn't everything," stated Steve simply, handing Grant the rest of his sandwich with a pointed look before heading to the sink to wash the plate. "Where we come from and our past plays a role in our lives, but it's how we learn from our past that defines who we are."

"Yeah, well, my past defines me as a traitor," reminded Grant grimly, his lips thinning a little. "Disloyal, murderous, psychotic, pretty much any negative explanative you can come up with except rapist and torturer."

"You betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D. to save another man, correct?" asked Steve, placing the plate in the dish rack and heading to the door with a motion for Grant to follow.

"My SO, yeah," confirmed Grant, shrugging a little. "He saved me. Doesn't change the fact I betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D. though."

"No, it doesn't," agreed Steve. The soldier glanced at Grant with a weird look that bordered on understanding. "I wouldn't call you disloyal though. Your loyalty lay with this Garrett person, right?"

"He saved me," repeated Grant with a nod. He stopped in front of the elevator as Steve did the same. This time, however, the doors didn't open immediately.

Instead, Steve turned toward Grant fully and met his eyes. "From what I understand, you followed Garrett into S.H.I.E.L.D. You didn't choose to go to the academy, Garrett made that choice for you. You did what Garrett said."

"I don't have Stockholm Syndrome," stated Grant firmly. He wasn't going to get into this again. He hadn't been abused, hadn't bonded with some man holding him captive. Garrett had never held him captive. If he wanted to escape the woods, he could have walked out. It was that simple. He'd chosen to stay. He'd chosen to stay with Garrett.

"I wasn't suggesting you did," assured Steve, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I know that's what Skye thinks, but I think there's more to it. I think you're very loyal. It might have been directed towards the wrong person, but I think a big part of why you did what you did was out of loyalty. Technically, that would mean you were never loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D."

Grant almost scoffed. That was convoluted bullshit if he'd ever heard it. "So what, because I was never loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D., I'm not a traitor?"

"It's one way to look at it." The doors in front of them dinged and slid open suddenly, admitting them into the elevator. Steve entered silently and Grant followed without another word.

As the doors closed though, Grant let Steve's words roll around in his head. He didn't doubt he was a traitor, but he could see where Steve was coming from. If he wasn't loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D., just Garrett, then when he turned his back on S.H.I.E.L.D., he wasn't betraying them. You can't betray someone or something you aren't loyal to in the first place. It was bullshit though and no one would believe it. That logic would never fly with Coulson or any of his old team. So, why would Steve even say that? What purpose could Steve have in trying to lessen his crimes?

* * *

- _31 years ago, Coron Island, Philippians-_

Silently, Arthur watched as the cells beneath his microscope morphed, the structure changing with every split. It was amazing to see how just a minor change to the bacterial genetic code was causing the very structure of the cells to change. Now he just needed to control the mutation states. If he could find a pattern to how the mutations formed and worked, it would just be a matter of causing a complete cellular mutation within a complex organism. He'd need to do more research first. Mutating all of the DNA of a living creature at once outside the womb would be difficult. There was bound to be a way though.

Really, what he needed was for all of the cells to mutate in the same way; that would be the trickiest part. So far, he could prompt the cells to mutate, but rarely with accurate repetition. Mutating the cells to do the same thing was going to be the key. He was close, too. He could feel it. The range of mutation types seemed to be reducing with each new attempt with his serum.

"I never could understand the obsession with cells." The calm, British voice shattered his concentration, crawling into his ear from right beside his head.

He spun around so sharply, he wasn't sure how she avoided getting clocked in the head.

A smirk curled over her lips as she leaned back a bit, shifting around so she could half-sit on a low filing cabinet beside his work station. "After all, what is the point of building a better cat if you can simply build a better trap?"

"Maybe you want to kill the mouse rather than just trapping it," suggested Arthur, his jaw ticking slightly as he glared up at the British woman. He may have been enchanted by her at first, but somehow he suspected any interest he had in her before would not last. Not if she kept interrupting his work, at least. "Is there something I can help you with, Lucy?"

"Yes." From seemingly nowhere, she produced a notepad which she rather carelessly dropped into his lap. "I need to know the dimensions for the equipment on this list. I'm rearranging some of the laboratories to generate better flow- it will allow me to set up mechanized material transfer points so we don't have to use the elevators when moving biohazards about."

"We?" repeated Arthur, his eyebrows shooting up even as a series of curses echoed through his head. She was staying? That was the absolute last thing he needed. She had already proven distracting to him and she had barely been at the facility for a week. What would an extended stay beyond the period they needed her for cause? He'd need to find an alternative facility if that did happen, otherwise he'd get nothing done.

"Sims offered me an engineering lab," explained Lucy, shrugging a little as she leaned further onto the filing cabinet. "I'm considering taking it. The idea of building what pleases me without concern for how it will ultimately be utilized is…freeing."

One of Arthur's eyebrows rose doubtfully. Engineers tended to have complete freedom when it came to inventing things. No one usually had moral issues with what they built initially, largely because it generally didn't go against social morals. "You could do that anywhere."

"Except whoever I'm working for would have rights to my work," countered Lucy with a grimace. "I have had more than enough of that with Leviathan."

Leviathan. Right. Somehow, he suspected that was the bigger reason for her stay and likely a large part of why Sims asked her to stay. He had to admit though, having an engineer in their midst could be useful. Particularly one as talented as Lucy. Even though she hadn't unveiled her actual designs for their facilities yet, he'd caught sight of a few of her notes and sketches. The engineering and architectural feats she was proposing were impressive. He just hoped they were stable.

"Are you concerned they might come after you?" questioned Arthur, feigning interest in the notebook she'd tossed on his desk. He wanted to understand her motives completely. He doubted the soviets and Leviathan would have released her so easily if she was a true asset to them, unless they were using her to play a deeper game.

"They would have to find me first," pointed out Lucy, her smirk transforming into a devious smile before his eyes. "And that is assuming they would dare bring me back after the surprise I left them."

Well, that didn't sound good. Arthur felt his eye twitch, though he didn't raise his eyes from the notebook. Play it cool was what his father always said and this time he'd try to heed that advice. Otherwise, he wouldn't get anywhere. "We aren't looking to make enemies with Leviathan, here."

"Again, they would need to know where I am," reminded Lucy with a shrug. Her almost cavalier attitude about running from Leviathan made him twitch. Leviathan was a dangerous group, no matter how dismissive Sims and Lucy were of them. Pissing the Soviet group off would only hurt them in the long run.

"And what makes you think they can't figure that part out?" challenged Arthur as he tossed the notepad aside and stood to tower over the engineer. She didn't even wince, simply cocked an eyebrow at him that clearly said she didn't take anything he was saying too seriously. That only pissed him off more. "Leviathan is its own monster. They have spies in most of the major governments in the world. If they want to find you, they'll find you."

"Except they won't," dismissed Lucy, "because I planted a nasty surprise in the camp where they were keeping me. The whole place is little more than a pile of incinerated ash by now, including the file they had on me. The original. I checked it was there before I built my toy."

She destroyed their file on her? She thought that was enough to keep her hidden? Bullshit. "Files can be reconstructed."

"If you have data then yes, they can," confirmed Lucy mildly, shooting him a look that said she thought he was dense. "But if there isn't any data, there is nothing to compile. If there is nothing to compile, you have no file."

"Except there is data," reminded Arthur bitterly. "Plenty of it and it's pretty easy to access unless you've erased yourself from existence."

"Which is precisely what I was doing when they nabbed me," stated Lucy irritably. "I had managed to erase about 95% of my public records when Leviathan grabbed me because I was _erasing my existence._ "

Arthur wanted to say something other than the question lodged on the tip of his tongue; it was a stupid question too. That was probably why it fell, unbidden, from his mouth before he could really stop it. "Why were you erasing your public records?"

"Well, if I'm not working in legitimate companies, I don't need those files," explained Lucy, though she was looking at him now like she suspected he was dense.

She had a point there. It was a security risk, too, when he thought about it. Sims had made him disappear when his father had collected him, after all. Still, he doubted there was just one copy of her file. No group was that stupid.

"There isn't enough information left for them to track me at this point, so I'm free to do as I please," continued Lucy, gesturing at the notepad. "I can't complain. This project is a large one and will test my skills. It's a fantastic challenge."

"So what, you're just going to hang around for the foreseeable future and join our brain trust?" asked Arthur, stashing his questions about her erasing her life for later. Her reasons were obviously something she wanted to keep secret for now and he wouldn't fight her on that. He didn't trust her, but there were a lot of non-threatening reasons she might have been erasing herself from public record. Besides, Sims seemed to trust her. Then again, Sims wasn't always careful with who he trusted, so maybe he should be worried.

"I plan to help Sims for the moment," repeated Lucy, her arms crossing over her chest. "Building your facility will be more than sufficient to hold my attention for the next few months."

"Few months?" repeated Arthur, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "What are you planning to do, design the facility and robots, then leave?"

Lucy laughed. Actually laughed. "How long do you think this building will take?"

"Longer than a few months," stated Arthur, his brow furrowing. "At least a year, based on the size alone."

"Maybe if you're working with a human crew," dismissed Lucy with a wave of her hand. "Sims plans to use a robot crew though. They can work nearly endlessly."

Well, she had a point there. "I'd still count on more like a year."

"Well, we could always make this interesting," stated Lucy, shifting on the filing cabinet. Arthur froze as she leaned towards him, her chest pushed somewhat up and forward by her arms. Her eyes dropped to half-mast, meeting his with a devilish smirk.

"Interesting," repeated Arthur, gulping a little against his will. Something about the way she said that word, rolling it off her tongue in a tone bordering seductive, made him uneasy. And uncomfortable; his pants suddenly felt far too tight. "Interesting how?"

"A bet," explained Lucy, her voice dropping lower as she leaned a little closer. "I find they're quite motivating, far more so than threats." Suddenly, she sat up again, back straight like she was a proper woman and not the devilish one he'd seen a moment ago. The smile she sent him was completely innocent, and that somehow made him harder. "Let us say, if I finish in six months or less, you will do whatever I ask of you for three days. My virtual slave, so to speak. And if you win, I will answer any and all questions you ask me in a three-day timespan. All honest answers, no turning down a question regardless of the content."

"What makes you think I wouldn't rather have you be my slave for three days?" asked Arthur, hoping his objection sounded like more of a challenge than it was. Truthfully, she'd hit the nail on the head. Having her answer any question he asked for three days would give him the time to actually learn her motivations and means. And there was no way she would be able to complete the building in six months; it was impossible. Leviathan would have had a state-of-the-art base if she could, and he knew they didn't. They'd have heard something about it otherwise.

Hopping off the cabinet, Lucy offered him another shrug and tapped her notebook from before once more to remind him she needed the data. "Because you are what we call a control freak and you use information to maintain that control. Not knowing something bothers you and not being able to understand something bothers you even more." Waving a bit, she passed him and headed towards the entrance to the makeshift lab-space. "I need that data, Dr. Ward. Sooner rather than later, preferably!"

Silently, Arthur watched her saunter out of the room, the door banging against its frame as she left. The ensuing echo felt like some distant force as his brain tried to fully wrap itself around what had just happened. He'd just entered into a bet. With Lucy. A bet that would result in either him becoming her slave for three days or getting every answer about her he wanted. It was a bold move on her part.

But he had to admit, it caught his attention. Gambling wasn't really his thing, particularly not for personal stakes like she'd proposed, but it wasn't as if she could complete the building in under six months. At least when this was all said and done, he'd learn what he wanted to know from her. And with a little scientific help, he'd make sure it was only the truth she told.


	5. Chapter 5

_-Present Day, Stark Tower-_

The ding of the doors opening snapped Grant's eyes forward and his attention back to the present. His brain felt fuzzy, like he'd been deep in thought for a long time. Except the elevator ride couldn't have taken more than five minutes. Was he going into shock? Was that even possible?

"Grant?"

Skye's worried voice cut into his thoughts, clearing away some of the fuzzy feeling. Her worried eyes met him from across the room where she saw beside Darcy, staring at him from a half-turned chair. Two computers sat on the long desk behind her, a third monitor mounted on the wall above them. It was significantly larger than the other two, clearly meant for displaying information for more than two people. That monitor was the only one Grant could clearly see, but what was displayed there was interesting enough to hold his attention completely.

Something that looked almost like a crude family tree was displayed on monitor. A series of names and unknowns were listed on the screen, separated in three tiers that he thought might be called levels. Some vague memory from a third grade family tree project where they'd had to map out their family as far back as they could go. At the time, he'd used the Wards thinking they were his actual family. His stomach twisted as the thought now, though part of him actually relaxed a little at the thought. Not being a Ward meant none of the crap that came with being from that family applied to him. No expectations or family name to uphold. The knowledge didn't help dispel the cold sense that came with the knowledge that he didn't know who he really was, but it did at least provide some kind of upside to this whole situation.

Shaking his head firmly, Grant forced his thoughts back to the monitor and the women working in the room in front of him. _Focus. You can have a melt-down above the third grade later._

Forcing his focus back on the screen, he took a moment to actually read what was there. His name in brackets sat at the top level, with two lines leading down to the second to connect with two names. One read unknown, which wasn't really a surprise; they'd already established they didn't know who his parents were. The other box, however, contained an actual name though: Audra Noreika. They had a name to connect to him. Something in his chest twisted at the sight, but he forced it away. It was too much to even begin to hope there might be some answer.

He forced his eyes to continue following the lines down to the third level. Two more people were listed as unknown on the third level. The second unknown, listed on the right, was connected to another name listed as Sarah, presented in brackets like Grant's own name. Sarah, in turn, was listed beside the name Joseph Rogers and had a line leading back up one level, connecting to Steve Rogers. And there it was, spelled out in plain language. Their joint family tree. Their proof and understanding of Grant's connection to Steve. Unsettling didn't begin to describe it.

"What's with the brackets?" asked Grant without much thought, his eyes focusing on the presence of the marks and the fact they were only on two names on the tree. He probably should have said hello or something, but if his abruptness bothered anyone, no one said a thing.

Uneasily, Skye pointed up at the wall-mounted monitor. "The brackets around the names?" Something about the way he asked made him extremely nervous. Her voice was almost weary, like she was hoping he wasn't talking about those specific marks.

Grant opened his mouth to reply, but Darcy cut in before he could. "Brackets mean we think the name is fake. Or, well," she shrugged a little, glancing back at him, "in your case know it's fake."

His name was fake. Right. That made sense. He was kidnapped, his whole life was a lie... Of course his name was fake. Why would his name be his? Why wouldn't that be made up as well?

Immediately, his eyes fell from the screen, unable to stare at further proof that his life was a complete lie. His eyes fell on Skye instead, catching the end of a dirty look directed at Darcy. The other hacker just cocked an eyebrow in response and shrugged.

Shaking her head, Skye shot him an apologetic look and took a step towards him (when had she gotten up?) "Grant, I think you should sit down." She turned the chair she'd occupied earlier towards him as she spoke, gesturing for him to take the seat.

Steve's hand pressed softly but firmly against the space between his shoulders, urging him forward and guiding him into the chair in question. Grant didn't argue. He couldn't seem to muster he energy to.

Dropping into the chair, Grant scrubbed a hand over his face in an attempt to pull himself back together. This was too much; it was all too much.

 _Pull yourself together kid!_ Garrett's voice snapped through his thoughts like a whip. _Get your head in the game and your ass in gear! Your smart, find the solution! Quit crying in the corner like a coward!_

Grant winced at the last bit, but used it as motivation to take a deep breath and force everything into a box. He needed to focus on the problem at hand, listen to what Darcy and Skye had found, and go from there. This was just like every recon mission he'd ever done: research and track the target. Except this time, he wouldn't be pulling the trigger. This wasn't some stranger they were talking about. He was the target. The thought made his skin crawl.

"Grant, are you still with us?" Steve's voice helped him push everything down a little firmer, bringing his focus completely back onto the room. Something about knowing the others were there made the whole thing feel more like a SHIELD mission and less like an invasive examination of who he was and where he came from.

"Hey, superspy, can you say something already so we know you're not gonna go Rambo on us?" pipped up Darcy suddenly, causing his eyes to snap to the brunette. Her back was still to him, but she appeared completely unfazed by him all the same.

"Who's Rambo?" asked Steve, glancing at Skye. The way her jaw dropped at Steve's question was almost comical. She didn't even seem capable of answering.

Darcy looked equally shocked and possibly a little appalled. "Dude, you've been awake for like…two years. How has no one introduced you to Rambo? How did Stark fail so bad at being a guy for that matter?"

Steve's brow furrowed further as he glanced down at Grant. "Do you know what they're talking about?"

Honestly, he didn't really know either. He'd heard the name as a kid, but he'd never known what it came from precisely. "I think it's a character?"

"Huge guy, massive muscles, carries a machine gun?" tried Darcy, her look going from shocked to desperate, as if the description might jog their memories. "C'mon dude, Steve's go the excuse of being frozen in ice for half a century. You don't."

Grant just shrugged a little, allowing the indifference he'd used as a shield between himself and people before crop up. "If it was a movie or TV show, I probably never saw it. My par-," he stopped partway through the word 'parents', a voice in his head screaming the reminder that they weren't, in fact, his parents. "Um, I mean, the Wards," it felt so weird to call them that, he actually tripped on the name, "were strict about what we could do. Your guy sounds like someone from the 'low brow TV trash' we weren't allowed to watch." He made sure to use finger quotes around the low-brow bit. His parents- _no, the Wards; they're the Wards now_ \- had an attitude that had always been off-putting. Even now, quoting them made him feel like he was chewing on gravel.

"Okay, that's a cultural crime," declared Darcy, clearly appalled based on the way she was staring at them. Her finger shot up firmly, as if she were making a declaration. "We One we deal with Grant's impending identity crisis, you two are going to watch that movie. It's like not knowing who King Kong is."

"I saw that move!" exclaimed Steve, voice clearly excited. "I saw it in the theater!"

Grant almost smiled at the borderline ridiculous excitement Steve displayed. Almost. It was only almost because Grant knew the excitement that came from knowing a reference when it was a rare occurrence. He'd been the kid at the academy who knew nothing about most of the movies and shows they were talking about. It was the one thing John hadn't trained him in. It was the one part of his personality he'd never faked. Well, that and his love for board games. Those were him, through and through.

"We can watch that and the three newer ones, too," assured Darcy, smirking a little as she turned back to her computer. It was pretty clear she was trying to keep from breaking into laughter. Skye looked almost as amused, but it was superficial at best. The tension in her shoulders and her compressed lips spoke volumes.

"They made four more?" asked Steve, his brow furrowing sharply. "Why?"

"Because they could," stated Skye with a shrug, attempting to keep her voice light but failing. "You'll get used to the idea. Pretty much everything has a sequel at this point." Her eyes fell completely on Grant. One of her hands came to rest lightly on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly before she spoke. Her voice dropped a little as she spoke, softening to the caring voice that had always shaken him up before. "I'm kinda guessing you guys didn't come down to talk about King Kong remakes, though."

"No," confirmed Steve grimly, shifting a little beside Grant. A glance at the super-soldier revealed the man was in relaxed parade rest. "We came to see what you'd found. I'm guessing it wasn't much."

"Sometimes it's what you don't find that matters," stated Darcy as he began doing something on her computer. Overhead, files began to appear on the mounted monitor beside the family tree. "Like a missing senate report on an environmental impact statement."

"Or medical records," added Skye as she bent over her own computer. Grant felt like the last comment was probably aimed at him, but he was too distracted by Skye's ass momentarily to think too much about it. "And there's a lot we haven't found."

Grant felt a hand tap his right shoulder, drawing his attention sharply back up from Skye's rear. He glanced to his right, but found only Steve standing there with his eyes focused on the screen. Except when he glanced knowingly at Grant. _And_ he just got caught ogling Skye by his second cousin from the 1940's. Great. Another stellar thing to add to the impression he was making. Except Steve's lip was twitching slightly like he was amused. What?

"So," stated Skye, suddenly straightening up and spinning towards them. It snapped Grant's attention forward again immediately. "Basically, we know what we can't find digitally and we've determined Grant's name is BS. We don't know if the name in the Hydra file is a maiden or married one and we don't know what Steve's mother's name is either because she appears to have changed it coming through Ellis Island. We have no clue if Grant's real parents are alive or dead, either. All we really know is Grant's name is fake, which isn't new, and Steve's mom's name is fake. Sarah is definitely not Lithuanian."

"Assuming he's even Lithuanian," pointed out Darcy as she finally spun towards them completely. "At this point we don't know what's going on. Grant's parents could have been Russian-born KGB agents for all we know."

His stomach twitched hard at the thought- so much so he was nearly sick. KGB agents? That was worse than a Ward. He hadn't thought anything could be worse.

"That's an exaggeration, Grant," spoke up Skye quickly, again throwing a glare at Darcy. "We have no evidence your parents were KGB agents."

"My _point_ ," stressed Darcy, tossing her own glare back at Skye, "is that right now we don't know squat and can't assume anything."

"So how do we start finding answers?" asked Steve, his lips compressing in a grim line. He gestured helplessly towards the computers in front of the women, faint signs of distress apparent in the way his eyes narrowed at the machines. "Can't these things find anything?"

"We found your dad based on what you told us about where he was from and what he did," explained Skye, gesturing towards the large monitor. The pages fanned out almost of their own volition, though Grant suspected Darcy had probably done something. Or JARVIS had. "We even found his immigrations records, his name on the ship manifest," she pointed at what looked like a really weird passport, "and the social he was issued. We found the immigration record and social for your mother, too."

"But we can't find your mom on the ship," continued Darcy, the files above minimizing to be replaced by a long list of names. "According to the records Steve, your dad was single when he boarded the ship and married when he got off. Problem is, there's no Sarah on the ship manifest. She doesn't show up until suddenly she's on Ellis Island with Joseph Rogers."

"She changed her name when she arrived," stated Grant, his mind immediately latching on to the issue at hand. A problem, that he could handle. Tracking people, doing research and tearing apart people's lives, that was familiar. He was trained to do that. It was safe. This, he could handle. "Who's on the original passenger manifest that didn't show up in the immigration records?"

"Uh, did we check that yet?" asked Skye, her brow furrowing as she looked back at Darcy. Darcy made a motion that was some cross between kinda and working on it. "I don't know if we-"

A ping suddenly interrupted her, echoing out of the monitor before a screen with four names on it appeared. JARVIS' voice echoed through the room almost immediately after. "I apologize for intruding, but I have the names of four individuals on the manifest who do not have corresponding immigration records. Two are noted as having died in transit and two simply appear to have vanished."

"What are the names of the two who vanished?" asked Grant, his mind already running through general criteria for identifying Steve's mother

"Michelle Greenstan and Alessandra Dagys," replied Jarvis crisply.

"Alessandra Dagys is the one we want," stated Grant, not even thinking twice about the matter. Dagys was a Lithuanian name- he'd spent enough time as an agent out there to know. "Can you find any other records for her?"

"Allow me a moment to check, Grant," requested JARVIS before the AI fell silent again.

"How are you so sure it's her?" asked Skye quietly, leaning towards with curious eyes.

"I spent a lot of time in Eastern Europe and Southern Lithuania on operations," explained Grant, his eyes locked on the screen above. He could feel his stoicism kicking back in as his mind shifted to agent mode. Everything he'd been feeling so far felt like it was disappearing, losing its importance. It felt good. The chaos that had been slowly driving him insane, the constant sense that he was off-balance faded away. And in its place, the sharp, focused mindset of an agent settled in.

He glanced beside where he sat when Skye didn't say anything further. Weary eyes met his, covered by a furrowed brow. The look she was giving him was a far cry from any other he'd seen on her face since he woke up. Worry immediately set in. Why was she looked at him like that? Was it something he said? He wanted to ask, even opened his mouth to do so.

JARVIS' voice suddenly cut through the room, halting any attempts Grant could have made to talk with Skye. "I have located two records that I believe are relevant to your query." Two records popped up then- neither in English. Both looked like birth records though. "One is for an Alessandra Dagys, who appears to have been born in Utena. I am attempting to locate an image." The second file came to the forefront on the screen. The handwriting was terrible. In addition, the ink had faded, further corrupting the writing in the image. "She does appear to have a sister: Ieva Dagys."

"Can you find anything on the sister?" asked Grant immediately. One sister. That had to be the mother of the woman they were looking for. What they needed now was her married name. With that, they could find any children and grandchildren she had. Well, in theory.

"What's your plan if there's more than one kid?" asked Darcy suddenly, shooting him a curious look. "How are we gonna know who your mom is?"

Grant swallowed hard at the mention of the fact they were hunting for his mother, but he forced it away. He needed to keep this impersonal. If they were going to do this, they needed his mind focused and sharp. "Then we look for someone with kids that have the right birthday or that were reported missing."

Skye's brow furrowed, giving him an almost sad look. Quietly, she moved to kneel beside him, laying a hand on his. "Grant, we're going to have to look at it as the right birth year, not the right birth date. And even then, it's going to probably be a range that includes part of the year prior."

"Skye, I know my own birthday," stated Grant, his brow furrowing slightly as he met her concerned eyes. "We can just use that-" Her words hit him then, cutting him off midsentence as his throat suddenly constricted. Of course, his birthday was just what he'd been told it was. That didn't mean it was real. Whoever brought him over probably didn't know his real birthday. And even if his real birthday had been used, there was no way for them to confirm that it had been used on any of his paperwork.

Her fingers squeezed gently around his hand, comforting and soft against the rough callouses resting along his fingers and palm. Even his time in prison hadn't eroded the sighs of time at SHIELD. If anything, fighting against the Hydra agents in the prison had made it worse.

"We'll figure this out, Grant," promised Skye softly, her kind eyes meeting his. He quickly turned his head away from hers, eyes focusing anywhere but on her. He couldn't stand to see that look in her eyes; not right then. He could feel the chaos from before bearing down on him again and he needed it to stop. Not looking at Skye helped. It let him disconnect and forget, just for a little while, that he wasn't himself. That he didn't actually know who he was.

"I have found records of four children born to her," spoke up JARVIS, his mechanized voice interrupting the conversation to Grant's great relief. More records appeared on the mounted monitor, though two fell away. "My understanding is that you are interested only in female children, correct?"

"That's right," confirmed Darcy, tapping her fingers a little. "I'm guessing you found two?"

"I have," confirmed JARVIS mildly. "Unfortunately, I have no access to further records. It appears no further information is available in a digital format."

"Which is about where we hit a dead end," remarked Darcy with a sigh.

"Meaning any further research has to be done on the ground," muttered Grant, a headache starting to build behind his eyes. He wasn't sure why this was such a surprise- why would any of this be digitized? He'd been to Lithuania. He knew the country just didn't have the technology to digitize everything. This shouldn't be a surprise. It shouldn't be stressful enough to give him a headache. Yeah, he'd been hoping they could end this easily, but he knew that wasn't how these things worked.

Idly, Darcy glanced over at Skye, eyebrow cocked curiously. "So, road trip?"

"As Lithuania is across the ocean, I would recommend flying," remarked JARVIS blandly.

Grant felt his lips tilt up a little, the bland joke somehow funny to him. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the stress of all of this. Maybe he was just losing his mind. But he chuckled a little all the same.

Beside him, Skye's hand squeezed his shoulder a little, her own chuckle escaping a little. "Unless we take Lola. She can fly _and_ drive."

"What?" asked Darcy, almost immediately perking up. "What's Lola?"

"DC's classic car," explained Skye with a devious grin. The same one that always made Grant feel like something was about to blow up. "It can fly."

"Wait," insisted Darcy, her own smile curling into a duplicate of Skye's own devious one. Seeing the look twice over made Grant even more nervous. They really needed to never leave Darcy and Skye alone, especially if Lola was anywhere nearby. "DC has a flying car? Oh, we are _so_ going to give that thing a spin."

"Coulson will kill you if you do," remarked Grant, the need to stop this before it started flaring up. He was not going to be responsible for picking pieces of Darcy and Skye off the floor of the Bus… except why would he be responsible for that? He wasn't part of the team anymore. Coulson would probably make someone else do it. It wasn't his job to guard Skye anymore. He wasn't her SO.

A gentle squeeze to his hand snapped his attention back to Skye. She offered him a gentle smile before releasing him. "I'm pretty sure the Quinjet is a better option."

"Yeah, driving across the Atlantic in a flying car probably isn't comfortable," agreed Darcy, though she sounded doubtful. Grant suspected he'd missed some silent conversation between the two. She hit a few buttons quickly before pulling a flash drive from the computer and offering it to Skye. "Now, let's go cause some trouble in Lithuania."

Somehow, Grant suspected she wasn't joking.

* * *

The ride down from Darcy and Skye's little sanctuary was silent. Even Skye and Darcy were quiet, though Darcy was pretty much glued to her phone and Skye appeared to be deep in thought. Or maybe she was just thinking about how much she regretted pulling him out of that prison. He knew he'd be regretting it in her shoes. Something that should have been so incredibly easy was proving to be incredibly difficult. He'd definitely be regretting it.

The elevator slowed to a stop as they reached the residential floor, stopping a moment later. However, as Grant went to follow Darcy and Steve out, Skye's small hand wrapped around his arm and held him back. He gave her an inquisitive look, but she didn't offer a verbal explanation. Steve halted a few feet from the car, glancing back at them in confusion. However, Darcy snagged his arm as she passed, pulling him along the hall with a muttered "C'mon Stars n' Stripes, we've got to pack up".

As soon as the doors slid shut again, Skye released him and stepped back to grip the car's handrail instead. She glanced up at the ceiling as she spoke, directing her voice to the hidden microphones contained within the small space. "JARVIS, can you take us to the floor Hill uses for SHIELD stuff?"

"Shall I alert Agent Hill that you wish to speak with her?" inquired JARVIS primly as the car began to move again.

"Actually, it's DC-er, Coulson I need to speak with," corrected Skye, shooting Grant a reassuring smile.

"I thought Coulson left," remarked Grant as the elevator sank further down. "Steve said he had earlier.

Skye turned towards the doors with a dismissive wave. "Nah, Bobbi left with the quinjet to get Hunter and pick up the stuff we left in the motel."

"What motel?" asked Grant, his brow furrowing. This was the first he'd heard of a motel.

Skye flushed a little, biting her lip slightly. She remained silent, though. Grant felt his concern rise immediately, She'd only be in a motel if she had to stay close to a place she was watching. That didn't make sense because the last thing she did was break him out of the prison and she wouldn't have needed to stake the place out from a motel with SHIELD resources backing her. They would have given her a van or quinjet, something. Plus, she would have blueprints and maps to work with. There would have been no need to stay in a motel.

And she'd definitely had access to those resources. She said she'd worked with the others to get him out… no, wait, that wasn't right. She'd said some of the others. Some.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Skye, what motel." She still wouldn't look at him, so Grant did the first thing he could think of. "JARVIS, stop the car for a minute and keep the doors shut." As an afterthought he threw in a "please", though it was probably unnecessary.

Almost immediately, the elevator ground to a halt. Beside him, Skye tensed, but didn't turn to face him. He wasn't really expecting her to, either. Something was amiss.

"Skye," repeated Grant, his voice tense. He wouldn't let his brain fill in the blanks. He wouldn't jump to conclusions about why Skye might have needed a motel or why things were left there. The fact they were only now being retrieved said she'd probably been there less than 48 hours ago, 72 at most. That would have been right before they pulled him out of the prison.

"The one we were staying in the night before we pulled you out," stated Skye quietly, her arms rising to cross over her chest. "Our original plan was to sneak you out by car, but that went to hell fast." She gulped a little, arms shifting to wrap tighter around her body. "Trip told us to head for the roof- apparently he'd convinced May to act as a backup extraction plan." Her tone became annoyed almost immediately as she added a quiet: "Not that he bothered to tell us."

"But that meant your stuff was never retrieved on exit," stated Grant, voice quiet. Things still weren't making sense. "I still don't understand. Coulson should have sent someone immediately." Then, the last two sentences sank in. "Wait, 'convinced May'? If it was an order, she would just do it. And why would Trip have anything to do with it?"

The resigned sigh that escaped Skye before she finally turned to face him put Grant further on edge. "There was no order, Grant. Breaking you out wasn't a SHIELD-sanctioned operation. Hell, Coulson didn't even want to accept something was wrong." Skye's angry, bitter tone was a little shocking. She almost sounded resentful. "When Coulson refused to listen, a bunch of us went AWOL. We got you out without SHIELD backup. Coulson didn't even know our plan."

Grant felt his heart rate pick up. None of this had been sanctioned. It was all done sans backup. He knew the list of things that could have gone wrong almost immediately and it terrified him. Part of him wanted to yell at her for being so stupid. Another part of him was just relived she had made it out alive.

"That was incredibly stupid," stated Grant, a scowl curling up his lip. "Do you realize you could have gotten killed? My life isn't worth yours!"

"Excuse me?!" exclaimed Skye, her eyes snapping up to his. The fury he saw in those beautiful brown eyes actually made him take a step back. "Grant, you're a super soldier experiment who was in Hydra's hands. That _alone_ was grounds for what I did. But beyond that, I spent two weeks watching you. I watched as _twice_ you were forced out of your cell in the middle of the night. Twice! Do you know how terrifying it is to watch anyone you know, regardless of how pissed you are at them, get dragged _fighting_ from a prison cell? How horrifying it is when they pull that person into a secret area that isn't on any blueprints? When you lose sight of them and know there's no way to get to them?" Grant winced at her accusation. "We didn't know what they were doing to you- if you were going to survive or not! Leaving you there wasn't an option."

For a long moment, Grant remained silent, his thoughts turning back to an Italian villa and a situation where the roles were reversed. Yeah, he knew that fear. Even now, the image of her lying unconscious in that tube made his stomach drop. That didn't change the fact she could have gotten killed though. Hell, it only further reminded him of the time he- _they_ almost lost her.

"My life isn't worth yours," stated Grant quietly, his eyes dropping to the doors. "You shouldn't have risked yourself for m-"

Sharp pain radiated across his cheek, echoing the loud 'smack' that cut through the small space. Shock followed as his eyes snapped up to Skye, one of his hands instinctively rising to cover his cheek. The fury in her eyes had doubled, now framed by an edging of unshed tears.

"JARVIS, the SHIELD floor, now," ordered Skye, her voice a harsh bark. That combined with the way she was nearly vibrating with anger was enough to shut him up. Apparently, JARVIS shared that sentiment because the elevator began to move before Skye had even finished her statement. The AI never even said a word.

When the doors opened to the SHELD logo a minute later, Skye stormed out with such forced that Grant wondered if he should stay behind. He almost did. It was only the glare she shot him when he didn't move to follow her immediately that got him moving. Her gaze was icy, promising retribution if he didn't follow.

He fell into step behind her as she turned back and continued to storm down the hall. Overhead, the lights flickered violently as they passed. It made him question the electrical system, then Stark's skills. At least it was enough to distract him from the angry woman practically clearing the halls ahead of her. Literally, he watched agents dive for cover- he would have, too.

Their forward momentum was abruptly halted when a door suddenly opened and two men stepped out. Coulson was first, followed closely by Clint, who had an arm thrown over Coulson's shoulders. Both men paused as they spotted Skye, winces subtly exchanged between the two before Coulson stepped away to face Skye.

"Everything alright Skye?" asked Coulson, shooting a suspicious look at Grant. He had the good decency to wince.

"Grant's a dumbass," stated Skye simply, the lights finally ceasing to flicker. Gesturing back at him, she added: "Also, we need to go to Lithuania. Can we borrow a quinjet?"

Grant wasn't sure what he expected from the meeting with Coulson, but that wasn't it. Skye never asked before she did something. It wasn't in her nature. Plus, she was a SHIELD agent- she didn't need to ask to use a quinjet.

"Go ahead," agreed Coulson, glancing once more at Grant. "Take someone else with you, though. Hydra had Grant once already; I doubt they'll give up."

"Steve and Darcy are coming," assured Skye, her shoulder relaxing a little. That was a good sign at least.

"I'll come along, too," added Clint, stepping up beside Coulson and squeezing the man's shoulder. "So will Nat. She'd probably know where to look for stuff better than anyone."

Skye started to open her mouth to say something, but appeared to change her mind a second later when she shut it and nodded instead. "Okay, we'll probably leave in an hour."

"Nat and I will be there," agreed Clint before he leaned over to kiss Coulson's cheek and headed down the hall. Coulson blushed a little at the sign of affection, but otherwise made no remark. At least Grant's earlier suspicions were confirmed now.

Clearing his throat slightly, Coulson motioned down the hall toward Clint's retreating back. "Skye, you should go figure out exactly what you're missing and work out the logistics of finding these records with Natasha. She'll have the best idea of how to proceed." He then glanced at Grant again. "I'll stay with Grant."

Grant felt a cold shiver run down his spine and even Skye looked reluctant to do as Coulson said. But the man's words didn't leave a lot of room for argument and what he'd said did make the most sense in terms of an action plan. Grant wouldn't try to argue and neither did Skye.

Nodding slowly, she turned to leave, offering him a reassuring look before she headed for the elevator. She couldn't hide the weariness in her gaze before she left though. It was a weariness Grant suspected might be on his own face given the reassuring look Coulson gave him before reopening the door he'd exited through earlier and motioning Grant to enter.

Honestly, Grant would have felt safer entering a prison cell. He hadn't been alone with Coulson since he awoke. After all the damage he'd caused, he wasn't sure he wanted to be. Still, he stepped into the room all the same, finding a non-descript office inside. The furniture was simple: desk, three chairs, a sofa, a computer. There was no decoration, either. If he had to guess, it was a spare one, probably for use by people like Coulson. Why Coulson would use it rather than going back to whatever base they were using, he wasn't sure. Well, actually, he suspected the reason was probably currently heading to find Natasha Romanoff with Skye.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind him snapped Grant back to reality. This was it; if Coulson was going to lash out at him for betraying the team or upsetting Skye, he was going to do it now. Mentally, he braced himself for the verbal assault he knew was coming.

"Should I ask what you said to anger Skye like that or should I just assume she's right?" asked Coulson mildly as he motioned for Grant to take a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk.

Cautiously, Grant lowered himself into the right seat, back remaining ridged. "I just told her that she shouldn't have pulled me out of that prison alone. That she could have been killed and that her life wasn't worth mine."

Coulson pulled in a sharp breath, letting it out in a slow whistle. His face pulled into a wince. "Maria is right; you do have the social skills of a porcupine."

Grant winced; sadly, it wasn't the first time he'd heard that. He'd always equated it to keeping himself distant for his mission, though. Apparently, it wasn't all because of the mission.

"We can work on that," continued Coulson, his voice mild, but there was an edge of kindness, too. It definitely wasn't what Grant was expecting to hear. Signing a little and shifting, Coulson opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of bourbon, offering Grant a glass. He nodded taking a sip of the liquid as soon as Coulson handed it to him. He wouldn't even feel the alcohol, but the taste helped sooth him a little. At least the burn made him feel a little more normal- even if he could barely get drunk, he could still feel the warmth from the alcohol as it hit his system.

"Do you understand why Skye is upset?" continued Coulson over his own glass.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had no clue why she was so mad at him. It had to do with his insistence his life wasn't worth more than hers, he knew that much. But what he'd said was also completely _true_. Skye liked the truth.

"Grant," sighed Coulson, throwing back the rest of his whiskey firmly, "by saying what you did, you invalidated everything Skye did to save you." Coulson set his glass down lightly on the desk, using his free hand to fish something out of his pocket. He found it half a second later, tossing a rectangular leather bi-fold on the desk between them. "Take a look at that."

Curiously, Grant reached out and picked the bi-fold up. The black leather felt soft and familiar against his palm. Flipping it open, he felt his breath catch. Skye's face stared up solemnly at him from a SHIELD DI card tucked above a standard SHIELD badge. He didn't understand. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because Skye gave it to me when I refused to listen to her concerns about where you were being kept," stated Phil quietly. His fingers tapped his glass. If it was in regret or frustration, Grant wasn't sure. "She quit SHIELD because of you, in some ways."

"Skye quit?" Grant couldn't believe he was actually saying those words. She'd quit SHIELD, because of him. She'd quit to save him. A warmth surged through his body at the thought before a wave of nausea chased it away. She'd given up her family for him. To help _him_ , a man with no name, no identity, no family. A man who'd betrayed her. He didn't deserve that kind of devotion, even if he did turn out to be a supersoldier.

"She did," confirmed Phil calmly. He stood silently, stepping around to lean on the front of his desk. Grant found his eyes locked on the other man's shoes. "Your situation highlighted some issues we had. I can't say how much of her leaving was because of you and how much was the way I treated her, but you were a factor."

His throat tightened, heart clenching. She'd quit SHIELD because of him. SHIELD, the group she'd begun to see as an extended family. And she'd quit because of him.

"Do you think you could return that to her?" requested Coulson mildly, Immediately, Grant's eyes snapped up to his former bosses'. He could feel his jaw hanging open a little. In response, Phil just shrugged. "I never took her quitting seriously."

"So why are you asking me to give her badge back?" asked Grant, his mind still reeling over the idea Skye had _quit_ for him. In any capacity.

"Call it a token of good faith," explained Coulson, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Plus, I'm still a little afraid she'll throw it at my head. We talked, but she might still be mad."

Grant felt his lips tilt up slightly in amusement. "SO you'd rather put me in the line of fire?"

"I doubt she'd throw anything at you," dismissed Coulson, waving his hand a bit. "Besides, you could probably catch it. I'm getting old, my reflexes aren't that good anymore."

Nodding, Grant slipped the badge in his pocket for safe keeping. "I'll give it to her."

"Great," confirmed Coulson as his phone pinged. Pulling out the device, he stared at the screen for a second before glancing back at Grant again. "I'm afraid I need to deal with this. Skye probably found Natasha by now, you should go speak with them."

Recognizing the dismissal, Grant quickly nodded and stood. "Yes, sir." The words slipped so naturally from Grant's mouth, it took him a second to register what he'd said He winced as soon as he realized his slip, but Coulson showed no sign of discomfort. Grant suspected his former boss hadn't heard the slip, to his relief. Quickly, he hurried out the door and back down the hall towards the elevator. Coulson was right, they had a lot to do before they headed out. And Grant didn't plan to just sit on his ass and let everyone else work this problem out for him.

* * *

- _31 years ago, Coron Island, Philippians-_

Arthur tried not to let the satisfaction show as he dropped the notebook rather unceremoniously on the desk beside where Lucy sat working. Maybe he'd get lucky and she'd jump. That would be satisfying. Something about her made him feel almost constantly out of control. It was like she somehow always managed to command every interaction they had. He hated it.

She half glanced at the notebook before raising her head to meet his gaze with a raised eyebrow. There was clear surprise in her gaze, bordering closer to disbelief. It was satisfying.

"There's your dimensions," stated Arthur, nodding at the notebook. "Everything you asked for. I included some maneuvering space recommendations, too. Too small labs are dangerous."

"Like a garage a quarter what it should be, I'm aware," assured Lucy as she plucked up the notebook and flipped the cover open. "Though I have to wonder if I could build the same machines at a quarter the size with the same efficiency."

"We didn't hire you to reinvent the wheel," reminded Arthur with a frown. If she started trying to redesign machines, it would extend this project by years and none of them could afford to wait for her to finish satisfying her ego to get on with their research. They needed these labs up and working. He couldn't go collect Grant until the labs were finished, either. And the sooner he got that kid away from his brother, the better. He didn't trust Andrew to not break what might prove Sims' magnum opus.

"No, you _invited_ me here to design and construct your scientific safe haven," corrected Lucy, closing the notebook and setting it aside before she returned to whatever she'd been working on before. They looked like mechanical blueprints, but he couldn't make any sense of them.

"That still isn't asking you to reinvent all of our equipment and put the entire project decades behind schedule," pointed out Arthur with a slight scowl. Her borderline dismissive tone didn't sit well with him at all.

The look of utter disbelief she shot him over her shoulder conveyed exactly how stupid she thought his statement was. "You are aware I won't be the one actually building this structure, correct? My robots will be."

"Under your direct supervision," stated Arthur slowly, his brain tripping a little over the implication she was making. The robots couldn't do things on their own without her direction. That implied artificial intelligence. Science fiction.

"Did Sims happen to mention who my mentor was when I completed my first degree?" asked Lucy, her tone bordering on resigned as she finally spun around in her chair to look up at him.

Arthur shook his head slowly, a chill sliding down his back. Who could this woman have possibly worked with that she thought he'd recognize the name?

"Howard Stark," stated Lucy simply. Her fingers tapped once on the desk in front of her. "I was his assistant each summer for three months as I completed my degree. He hardly glanced at me, but I took in everything he did. The science he was working on? It was incredible. Feats you couldn't imagine. My access was limited, but I learned a great deal."

Howard Stark, one of the greatest engineers of his time. How the Hell had she managed to swing that? Well, actually, he could imagine how. She was beautiful. How Howard could turn her away, he wasn't sure. And he wouldn't be surprised if Stark had kept her around just for the view.

As if reading his mind, Lucy scowled and added: "I didn't sleep with him. One of my professors knew him and setup the arrangement. Stark literally had me working on basic pieces of projects and fetching his coffee. It was only of value because of the access I was provided."

Something in Arthur seemed to relax a little at that, but he refused to consider why. That wasn't a conversation he was ready to have with himself yet. "I'm sure you missed an opportunity."

"An opportunity to become infested with some unknown sexually transmitted disease?" remarked Lucy with a snort. "I'll pass, thank you."

Arthur almost laughed at that. She had a point there- who knew what Stark was infected with. "You could have contracted something just from working in his lab."

"Which is precisely why I always wore gloves and protective gear," assured Lucy with a touch of a smirk. "I wasn't inclined towards catching whatever he had."

A smile tugged at his lips. At least she was smart enough to be safe, even if she couldn't actually catch anything from Stark's lab. Well, he didn't think she could. There was always the chance though...

"I'm a little surprised you brought these measurements so quickly," continued Lucy, her attention now turned back towards the notebook. "I would have expected you to drag your feet to increase the chance you'd win our little wager."

"Giving you these measurements now rather than at the end of the week isn't going to make a difference," scoffed Arthur dismissively. "It's still going to take you longer than six months to complete the labs."

"How are we defining that, anyway?" asked Lucy suddenly, setting the measurements aside once more and refocusing once again on her blueprints. She looked them over for maybe a few seconds, then suddenly stood and turned towards some pile of twisted metal sitting beside her. She picked up a bar and spun on slowly in her hands, eyes tracing the metal as her fingers slid over the surface. It was hypnotizing and Arthur momentarily forgot to answer her question.

"I can simply assign a definition if you'd prefer," continued Lucy, her voice dropping an octive. Arthur's eyes snapped up to hers almost immediately, catching the knowing smirk that had crossed her lips. Shit.

"Complete as in ready for us to move in and begin working," defined Arthur quickly, clearing his throat somewhat when his voice cracked slightly.

Lucy snorted faintly, rolling her eyes. "That will be a section-by-section occurrence. Shall we define it as complete when the final section is functional?"

"That works," muttered Arthur, suddenly feeling the marked need to escape her presence. God, he couldn't believe she'd caught him staring like that. He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to be so distracted as to allow himself to be caught.

Lucy blatantly gave him a once over before turning back to her metal parts and setting a few more pieces aside. "There should be an order of construction materials arriving in the next day or so. If you can, have them placed on the far side of camp. I've cleared an area for their storage. Otherwise, I will move them later. Just do not allow the delivery men to simply drop the materials where they sit." Turning back to him again, she added: "There will also be a box of rare metals, a few bags of sand, and several metal cases containing circuitry materials. Those I need delivered here."

"I'm not your assistant," stated Arthur with a growl. The nerve if her, assuming he'd be taking in the shipment. He had better things to do. "This is your job. You're responsible for receiving the materials."

"Except I won't be here tomorrow," stated Lucy mildly as she set a few more pieces of metal aside. "I need to hop an island over where they have a scrap yard."

"A scrap yard," repeated Arthur incredulously. They weren't paying her to build a shoddy building out of recycled parts. There was no way that would be safe.

"I need a few specific components for my robots," stated Lucy, as if reading his mind. "Even if they are largely autonomous, I still need to establish a command center of sorts. And for that, I need specific computer components I don't particularly want to order."

"Why?" asked Arthur in disbelief. It would be so much easier to just order what she needed, she should just get whatever she needed delivered.

"Because when you order transceivers in packs of a hundred, it tends to draw attention," replied Lucy mildly, shooting him a look that implied she thought he was short a few marbles. "Particularly when you are having them delivered to a remote island where there is no valid reason for their delivery. And given I was under the impression you wanted to remain under the radar, I thought I would see if I could get some of what I needed from a cash-accepting establishment with little to no oversight and no means of teaching the transaction."

Arthur felt his cheeks heat at her remark. When she put it that way, her logic made sense. Part of him riled at her tone and made him want to snap at her. And snap he did. "Well, just get what you need then and get back here. I'm not your assistant and I'm not going to just accept orders for you."

Lucy rolled her eyes and waved her hand at him dismissively. "I will be certain to reward your effort."

The dismissive action and tone immediately caused him to bristle. How dare she dismiss him? He was one of the scientists who'd be utilizing this facility. She was just an engineer. Yes, they built most of the equipment utilize by the scientific community, but she had no right to treat him like an underling.

"You can reward my effort by getting to work on constructing our project," growled Arthur, glaring at her even though he suspected she didn't notice a thing except the pieces of metal she was studying. He knew that look; it was a common one around the camp.

"I'll be sure to let you know when I break ground." Again, her tone was dismissive, though there was a distance to it that implied she was thinking about more serious things. Things that were going to make Arthur do something drastic if he kept trying to talk to her.

Turning away, he just barely avoided storming out of the room. He had better things to do than argue with that irritating engineer anyway. He needed to push through with his research. Soon, he'd be ready to start running human tests, but that meant he needed to figure out how he was going to do that. Arguing with Lucy made him want to work anyway, so he might as well start now.


End file.
